


West Coast Swing

by Princess of Geeks (Princess)



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: AU, First Time, M/M, Prostitution, Romance, clichefic, virgin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-21
Updated: 2012-08-21
Packaged: 2017-11-12 15:31:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/492780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess/pseuds/Princess%20of%20Geeks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daniel's a hooker. Jack walks into his bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	West Coast Swing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JD Junkie](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=JD+Junkie).



The after-dinner and before-clubbing crowd was thickening in Renegade's when Daniel sauntered in. He'd showered and used the laundry service at the hotel, taking advantage of the gratitude of his second trick of the day, who'd checked out and headed for the airport, leaving Daniel the use of the room, and thus Daniel felt buzzed and refreshed and relaxed, all at the same time. 

His handshake with the doorman became a comfortable lean-in kiss, and one-armed hug. Nathan straightened to give him a once-over, and Daniel firmly nodded to show he was truly, completely all right, which earned him a slap on the ass that made him smile.

Inside, he nodded to Allen when the bartender heard the bells jingle, over music that was still pitched low, and glanced up automatically to check on the newest arrival. Ducking under the barrier that separated the bar from the customers, Daniel put one knee on the floor and unobtrusively and quickly slid his folded stack of fifties and twenties into his personal and private hidey-hold behind the first ice machine. He stood up, smoothed his long hair back, and glanced around.

"Having a good day?" Allen asked him, one corner of his mouth turning up as he observed Daniel's ritual from the corner of his eye.

"Oh, yeah," Daniel said, drawing out the vowels to underline his satisfaction, and helped himself to a glass of tonic and ice with just a splash of Bombay Sapphire. Allen scooted behind him to get to the ice machine, patting his ass on the way. Daniel took a long, satisfying swallow, and parked his glass next to the clean ones while he undid one more button on his freshly pressed, blue, dress shirt. Allen was alone, so far, behind the bar, his white shirt still pleated, his brown curls fresh on his forehead, but in another hour or two he'd have several reinforcements back here as everything heated up for the evening.

Picking up his drink, and transferring his cell phone to the front pocket of his black jeans, Daniel took the long way back around the bar to claim a stool at the end nearest the empty dance floor. Renegades, not too big, more neighborhood bar than club, but with a nod in the club direction, was a great and friendly place to take a break and wait for the call that might mean a busy night to go with his busy day. He was deep in conversation with one of the regulars when Allen leaned toward them and said, "Hey. Possible cop."

Daniel's friend shut up fast as Daniel glanced back at the door. The man who was coming through, sliding something into the inside breast pocket of his bomber jacket, was frowning slightly, though there was no way to tell the reason. But it was immediately obvious why he had tripped Allen's alert. He was tall and lean, and carried himself with that military strictness that often meant cops. Also the short haircut signaled cop, though you couldn't always rely on that. His clothes were nondescript but good, and he was wearing boots -- not motorcycle boots, no thick soles or silver ring at the heel, just carefully polished, old-looking, high quality, low-heeled boots of brown leather. All the cues almost added up to 'cop,' but not quite. Daniel met Allen's eyes and shrugged. Allen cocked his head, asking Daniel wordlessly to cover for him while he went to ask the doorman what was up. If he'd seen the guy's ID, that might tell them something.

Daniel drained his glass and stood. The customer he'd been talking to had vanished out the back at Allen's first words. Daniel eased behind the bar and pulled up a couple of limes and a knife. Unlike his hastily departed acquaintance, Daniel had no record; he'd never been arrested for so much as a traffic violation. _Way too smart to get caught,_ Allen always told him, and Daniel always grimaced and replied, _No; way too careful._

The guy had paused at the far end of the bar to glance around. He approached Daniel slowly, like he was reluctant to talk or even place an order. Another wrong note. His handsome face was stoic, but there was a look in his eyes that Daniel couldn't interpret. Wariness? Irritation?

Daniel looked past those troubled brown eyes to see Allen turn away from the doorman and give a shrug and a headshake. Allen folded his arms and hung back. Daniel smirked. All right, then. He was up. Allen had paid his debt to society, as they said, but he was never eager to talk to cops. Allen's gestures told Daniel this guy hadn't shown the doorman official ID or flashed a badge. If he was a cop undercover, it would be Daniel's job to make him.

"Can I get you something?" Daniel said, as the stranger eased closer. Daniel's hands stayed busy with the short knife, making three precise cuts through the lime, his touch sure without any need to look down. He'd done this many times, for Allen and elsewhere. It was second nature now. As much second nature as sizing up his own customers.

"Beer," the possibly-a-cop said, meeting Daniel's eyes and frowning again. "Whatever you have on draft."

Daniel swept his sectioned lime into the bin next to the cutting board. He turned, pulled down a glass and drew the beer, then produced a coaster. "Let's make this one on the house, if you'll answer a question or two for me," Daniel said quietly, leaning in and smiling as he picked up the knife and a new lime.

The guy narrowed his eyes, arrested in the move toward the wallet in his jacket front.

"The head bartender thinks you're a cop. And if you are, you should say so right away and tell us what you're doing here ..."

Brown eyes acquired a knowing look, and the guy glanced back at Allen, then tilted his head. He leaned in to speak just as conspiratorially as Daniel had.

"...because we don't want any trouble in here," he finished Daniel's thought for him. "Believe me, I know."

"So, is you is, or is you ain't?" Daniel said, still smiling. "We'll all have a much better time if we know right now."

"Not a cop," the guy said, picking up his beer and taking a contemplative sip. When he put it down, he didn't meet Daniel's eyes. "Just a guy who might be in the wrong place."

That stopped Daniel. He raised his eyebrows, and his hands paused in their work as he absorbed the information. He let his eyes sweep up and down the guy again, revising as he went. Very short, natural brownish hair, just going gray; serious, sharp face, probably very attractive when it didn't look so statue-like with tension; nice button-down shirt, chocolate brown, laundry-starched and pressed; undershirt; no tie; old and, like the boots, lovingly cared for bomber jacket; newish jeans, a little tight; woven leather belt, leather watchband, no wedding ring. There were no screaming designer labels, but his clothes were obviously quality; better than the typical cop wore. If the stranger was telling the truth -- and cops had no reason to lie when they were under cover in here; usually they wanted help ID'ing somebody -- then his bearing and his haircut might mean military, not police. That's what could have confused Allen. "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" was dying but not yet dead; maybe that's what this guy meant by being in the wrong place.

"Dog tags?" Daniel said, getting his hands moving again, keeping his smile, and letting a bit of sympathy creep into his voice.

"Retired," the man said, a touch automatically, and he added, "Air Force."

"Ah," Daniel said, and that earned him the ghost of a regretful smile, and on top of it, Daniel could see the hope begin to bloom in those dark, dark eyes. He put down the knife.

"I'm Daniel," he said, and the man shook his hand. Yes, very, _very_ handsome, when not tense. Very. The stranger gave a firm handshake, but not too firm -- nothing to prove there. That boded well.

"Jack," he answered, and Daniel could see him cut off speaking his last name. It took a little effort, which meant first-names-only was not automatic for him. Which also meant that "Jack" was probably his real name. Past his shoulder, Daniel could see a reassured Allen coming their way.

"I'm not really the bartender," Daniel confided. "I just fill in, if Allen needs someone to run an interrogation." Jack chuckled, but a shadow passed over his face, there and gone almost too fast to see.

Allen shot Daniel a grin as he went by, off to serve another customer. He called out a greeting to Curtis, the second regular bartender, just now arriving for his shift.

"Dan-iel," Curtis drawled. "Better get your pretty ass out of there before the health department finds out." Allen rolled his eyes but didn't say anything. Daniel kept his eyeroll on the inside. Curtis had never liked him. But Curtis didn't call the shots here.

Daniel swept his second sectioned lime into the bin, and rinsed off the knife and put it away. As he built himself a second gin and tonic, a little stronger this time, he said, "Pull those claws in, sweetheart. I just got my new friend Jack his drink while Allen was busy."

Carrying his glass, Daniel came around the bar, and Jack gave him a puzzled frown, his hand on the stool he'd pulled out.

Daniel said, "The air-conditioning is a little cold up here; you want to get a table?"

Jack looked from Curtis, who was tying his apron, his lip curled, to Daniel, and said, "Sure."

He still hesitated, though, and Daniel supplied, "Really -- that beer's on the house." Leaving Allen to deal with Curtis' expected splutter over the freebie, Daniel led the way to one of the tables near the dance floor, and slid onto a tall chair. The sofas seemed too intimate for such a new acquaintance, and Daniel was intrigued by what he'd heard. He was still wondering why Jack might feel out of place. And thinking it might be a diverting challenge to find out.

Daniel sipped his drink; Jack sipped his beer, then caught his eye, and smiled. It reached his eyes, too, now, and warmed them up considerably.

"So," Jack said, "do you come here often?" and the ironic arch of his eyebrow conveyed that he knew exactly what a stupid thing it was to say, and that he was saying it on purpose.

Daniel laughed. The twinkle in those warm brown eyes now was so, so much friendlier than the earlier wariness. It created a pleasant knot of warmth at the base of Daniel's spine. "Yes, actually. It's a regular hangout for me."

"You live in the neighborhood?" Jack had brought his bar coaster with him to the table, and he was fiddling with it, standing it on edge, catching it when it didn't balance, turning it, catching it again. He had strong-looking hands and long, deft fingers with a pronounced backward curve to the thumb. It was hard not to stare.

"No," Daniel said, forcing himself to stop watching Jack's hands and meet his eyes. The next thing he said, as it always did, would make his night or break it. "It's where I hang out while I'm waiting for customers. Not everyone's interested in paying for sex, but when they are... Well. I'm an excellent choice."

Jack was surprised, and tried to hide his surprise by taking a drink of beer. "You're a hooker."

"That's one word. It'll do."

Jack cleared his throat. "Then I'm taking up your valuable time under false pretences. I didn't come in here looking to hire someone."

His face had gone all solemn again. His expressive eyes were veiled. The twinkle was gone. Daniel put his hand over Jack's, and anyone less attuned to human reactions would have missed the suppressed flinch.

"I'm not on a clock. I don't have anyone to answer to. There's no pimp, no organization. I'm freelance. Just me. Also, for the record, even callboys can have friends, you know."

"I'm not your friend." Jack didn't pull his hand away, but otherwise, he had retreated entirely. His face was now blank. _Yeah, military through and through,_ Daniel thought ruefully. Jack knew how to put on the facade, how to make it by the book. Except. It was always a mask, a form of camouflage, the military demeanor, the suppression of emotions. Camouflage just like the blue uniform he used to wear if he was Air Force. Because no one military who was also queer could be entirely by the book. No matter how repressed they thought they were. In Daniel's experience, that fundamental difference in orientation found a way to burst out somewhere. Some guys overcompensated with ultra-intense attempts at hyper-straightness and homophobia. Some compensated healthily by bending the rules a little, looking for shades of grey, finding a way to get flexible enough to blend in, because the alternative was to break.

He'd only just met the guy, but Jack didn't strike him as someone who broke. Furthermore, he had walked in here tonight. A repressed, overcompensating, true-believer- wannabe in denial wouldn't have come right in the door of a well-known gay LA bar and ordered a beer.

Daniel forced himself to remember that there was indeed a third alternative for queer military guys like Jack: A way of compensating that resulted in a life so twisted, so self-destructive, that it would mean years of therapy for anyone unlucky enough to get sucked in. But Daniel's radar was very good. He didn't think, based on the little he'd seen, that Jack was that kind of scary personality disorder. But nevertheless -- he reminded himself to keep his radar turned on, regardless of how gorgeous this guy was. Or how soft his lower lip looked. He wanted to make the twinkle come back, though. Daniel missed it already.

"No," Daniel agreed. "You're not my friend. Or my customer. Not either. Not yet. But, the night is young." He took his hand away and drained his gin and tonic. The music segued into a languid blues number, the six-beat marked subtly yet insistently by a stick on a cymbal. Daniel smiled. It sounded like Eric Clapton. He stood up.

"So. Maybe we can get acquainted. Let's dance." He held out his hand, palm up. He smiled, willing Jack to agree, willing his own demeanor, and the ordinary request, to somehow push through the blank retreat he'd induced. If it were simply some ordinary middle-class guy's surprise at meeting an honest-to-goodness male whore, nothing would cut through the shock quicker than physical contact. Plus, Daniel knew how he looked. He knew what the blue shirt did to his eyes. He knew exactly how irresistible he was. Dozens of men, and not a few women, had told him so, over the years. And nothing was better than dancing for "show" instead of "tell."

He gave his outstretched hand a little shake. Jack shook his head, took a big swallow of his beer -- very nice, how his throat muscles moved as he swallowed -- and stood up. He met Daniel's eyes. Challenge -- ah, yes; there it was. Never breaking the glance, he moved his wallet to his pants pocket, took off his bomber jacket and hung it on the back of his chair. And he took Daniel's hand and stepped off the carpet onto the wooden boards.

It was early. No one else was dancing yet. The floor was all theirs.

Jack wrapped his free hand around Daniel's waist and bent his elbows, pulling Daniel in, already moving his feet to the driving beat of the blues. His mouth came to Daniel's ear. Daniel was just about as tall; Jack had perhaps an inch on him.

"Who leads?" Jack said. It sounded spontaneous, surprised. Like an afterthought.

"Looks like you're used to it," Daniel said, matching his body to Jack's and taking up the simple step Jack had started.

He felt more than heard Jack laugh. "So you can go either way," he said.

Daniel's turn to put his lips to Jack's ear. "Don't you know it."

He felt Jack's indrawn breath, then felt him let it out. Jack's right hand pressed the small of his back; Jack's left hand was strong and assured in his. Daniel closed his eyes and inhaled, letting the music do all the work, letting the music move him. He caught the scents of leather, and beer, and laundry starch, and aftershave -- something old-fashioned and a little spicy. Not musky, not aggressively strong. He let the music take him still closer to Jack, letting their chests touch, letting their thighs brush.

Jack had asked him who would lead. That might be a simple question. Or it might have said a whole hell of a lot about the hesitant, wary look in Jack's eyes when he came through the door just now. _Not a cop. Retired military._

Daniel's instincts had rarely led him astray, and he followed them now. He let his own broken-in, once-expensive loafers follow those gorgeous boots closely, and he said: "How recently retired?"

"Two weeks ago, officially."

"Hmm," Daniel said, thinking in the background, but mostly feeling. Jack's callused hand in his, Jack's assertive hand on his back, Jack's closed eyes.

"So that was an opportunity for you," Daniel continued. He was feeling his way, but he was pretty sure he was right about this.

"For what," Jack said, breathing it against the side of Daniel's head as he turned them, and then Jack was pushing him -- a test, perhaps, of Daniel's skill at following. He pushed, and separated them, and they were swing dancing, which became a deliberate, elaborate, and extremely sexy set of moves, given the slow beat of the music.

"For coming to a place like this. Working toward coming out, I suspect. Let me guess," Daniel said, nudging a little with his hand to emphasize the words, looking into Jack's eyes and still following him effortlessly, betting that Jack wouldn't look away and would continue to let the music set their pace. "Once you separated, you came here. To California. It's not home; your accent says Midwest. Northern Midwest. You probably were stationed here once, or passed through here, so you knew something about LA. You knew it's a place you could come to try it on, finally. Try on something you've never done but always wanted. That's what you meant at the bar -- saying you might be in the wrong place."

Jack's eyebrows went up. "Do you charge extra for the psychology? Or is it part of the regular package?"

"Why do you ask?" Daniel shot back. "Are you considering hiring me tonight? Because if you are, I'm very, very interested." He noticed that though Jack had protested, he didn't deny the truth of anything Daniel had offered.

Jack pulled him in, ending the swing and taking them back into the formal ballroom embrace he'd started with.

"Like I said," Jack said, "I didn't come into this bar intending to hire a hooker." His voice had gotten a little rough. That meant Daniel had scored a point. Maybe two.

"Fair enough," Daniel answered, but he was smiling inside, and he let himself ease closer as they continued to dance, and yes, there was Jack's erection. He wasn't fully hard, but obviously the dancing and the company and perhaps the knowledge of Daniel's availability were all working together to turn him on. For some customers, the availability was the key, the whole reason they hired someone instead of going out and finding someone. They didn't like the awkward dance of dating, the possibility of rejection. Knowing Daniel was theirs for certain, if they simply paid the price, made them confident. It was a supremely straightforward kind of transaction. Jack's hand on his back was just as firm as before, but as soon as the step let him, he tilted his hips away, not letting Daniel feel him below the waist anymore.

Daniel's phone began to ring; an old- fashioned ring, like a Ma Bell pay phone. It jolted Jack a little. He moved his hand to Daniel's side, separating them further, making the dance extremely formal, and he said, "Do you need to take that?"

"It can wait," Daniel said. "It's rude to interrupt a conversation to take a phone call."

"That depends on the phone call, doesn't it?"

"Not for me," Daniel said, licking his lips. "I prefer that the face-to-face always take priority."

"Do ye now," Jack said, letting a tiny, affected lilt creep into his voice.

The phone stopped ringing and rolled to voicemail as the song ended, and Jack released him. They walked back to their table without touching. While they danced, the nine o'clock hour had struck, and right on schedule, the bar had begun filling steadily. Many of the tables were full now, and couples and groups were coming to the floor. There was a solid line of men at Allen's bar now, filling all the stools; talking, leaning, flirting, touching. Daniel tried to see it with new eyes, see it the way Jack might if he'd never set foot in a gay bar before. The crowd and the decor were nothing special; very like any other middle class bar in LA -- except for the dearth of women. Another subtle difference -- compared to his experience in straight bars, there was a lot more casual touching among strangers. He glanced at Jack, who had followed his gaze.

"I hope you're liking what you see, if places like this are new to you," Daniel said.

"The present company is very pleasant," Jack replied, and picked up his beer glass.

"Pleasant? Just pleasant? I'm losing my touch, then. The goal here is irresistible," Daniel laughed. His phone rang again, and Jack frowned. Daniel pulled it out of his pocket, switched it to "silent" and set it on the table.

"If you ignore phone calls, you're losing business."

"That is absolutely not something I want you to worry about."

But they both looked at the phone as it vibrated to signal a text.

"Excuse me," Jack said before Daniel could speak, and the corner of his mouth was tugged by an almost-smile. He got up and looked around, scanning the crowd, and walked off. He left his beer and his jacket.

Daniel suppressed a sigh and went ahead and read the text. It was a request for a date from a regular from out of town. The man apologized for the short notice, mentioned a surprise business trip to the city, and expressed hope that Daniel would be unbooked for the evening, unlikely though he knew that was. Daniel raised his eyebrows. This particular regular was one he actually looked forward to. And, because he wanted certain extras, he paid very, very well.

He looked up as he pocketed his phone to see Jack standing there, his hands on the back of his chair, crumpling the collar of his jacket.

"If that's a customer for tonight, don't let me keep you from your work. Thanks for the beer." He shrugged into his coat and picked up his glass. "And the dance," he added, sipping the beer as he walked off, skirting the dance floor and making his way back to the bar. Heads turned. When he got to the bar, men made space for him readily. He leaned in, putting his glass down and signaling Curtis for a refill. He turned back and met Daniel's eyes for a moment, then turned to pay for his beer. The man next to him put a hand on his shoulder, and soon they were talking.

Well. That was that, then. Daniel reached for his phone to return the call from his surprise client.

Some people were instantly turned off by his job; he had accepted that a long time ago. But Jack had danced with him anyway, after finding out. And Jack's body had been interested, even if he hadn't been. Though it was pointless, he could admit to the tiniest bit of regret.

He shrugged, trying to shake off the feeling. He punched the "return call" button, and in a few minutes was on his way to Century City. The night was young.

~~~

A week later, Daniel blew into Renegade's late, after an evening job that had been his first of the day. The week had been a little slow, leaving him plenty of time to catch up on the reading for linguistics before the next exam, and map out his UCLA schedule for the fall semester. He was getting static from the archaeology people and the linguistics people, being urged to do one or the other. No one had ever gotten both doctorates simultaneously, it seemed. No one believed he could do it. The meetings and ensuing arguments were tiresome. Daniel wanted to be left alone to research and write and take his classes. And he most emphatically did not want to leave his customers and his income and go to Egypt in the coming winter. No matter how much he could contribute to the project. Jesus, it was enough to make a guy think about transferring to University of Chicago after all. Academic politics made him tired.

Curtis was behind the bar, with Allen nowhere in sight, so he kept his folding money in his pocket this time. He was wearing a jacket and a tie, at the last customer's request. It was the guy in Malibu who liked to take pictures, dressed and undressed, which took longer, but hey, the guy was always good for the extra charge. And it was nearly eleven, so he mentally declared himself off for the weekend and turned off his cell phone. He squeezed up to the bar, smiling at the men he displaced with his hip and getting smiles in return. Putting a twenty in the tip jar, he said, "Gin and tonic, Curtis, please; Sapphire, no lime."

Curtis curled his lip and complied. Daniel was Allen's pet, not his, his expression seemed to say. Daniel smiled, and drank. How lovely that he could give the poor bored bartender such a satisfying dose of drama, just by existing. There was nowhere to sit at the bar, so Daniel turned, scanning the room. It was crowded but not packed. Maybe there was a concert or something, to pull some of the trade away. Daniel hadn't checked this week, having been preoccupied with school. Across the dance floor, someone was sitting alone in one of the deep sofas, long legs stretched out in front of him, ankles crossed, drinking bottled beer. Daniel did a double take. Short hair cut, a glint of silver, jeans, low-heeled boots. It was Jack.

Daniel started to head that way, but reconsidered mid-stride, pausing at the first table he passed. Two men he recognized as bar regulars were watching the dancing. He covered his redirection by nodding to them and setting his hand on the table. Jack had brushed him off pretty emphatically exactly a week ago. Better to hang back?

"Sit down, Daniel," one of the guys said, smiling at him. There were two empty chairs at the table. "Unless you have a better offer."

"I am officially off work for the evening," Daniel said, raising his glass for a toast and accepting their invitation. The three of them were talking about the band that had been booked into Renegade's for the next Saturday night, when Daniel felt more than heard a presence behind his left shoulder. He turned around, and there was Jack. Who touched his arm, then pulled his hand back immediately.

"Would you like to dance," Jack said, and he licked his lips. Daniel's mouth fell open. An overture from this man was the last thing he'd expected, but as he met Jack's eyes, his surprise became something else -- a kind of suspended trance, a zing that didn't happen to him very often. The suppressed emotion he could see in Jack's dark eyes sparked something inside him -- something unidentifiable, something not quite under his control. He wasn't sure if he liked that or not. He narrowed his eyes. He forced himself to smile.

And he didn't answer, but got up and put his hand on Jack's back.

When they reached the floor, Daniel leaned in and offered, "I can lead this time."

Jack chuckled ruefully. "I'll step on your feet. I always have preserved the greatest admiration for Ginger Rogers."

Daniel grinned, bringing his hands up and linking his fingers around Jack's neck. He felt Jack's palms settle at his waist. "Backwards, and in high heels," Daniel said lightly, finishing the joke, and then they were dancing.

Jack didn't quite meet his eyes, but once again he was leading with confidence and expertise, even a carefully controlled enthusiasm. His hands felt as good as Daniel remembered. For a few bars, Daniel let himself bask in the enjoyment of getting to dance with such an accomplished partner. But he also wanted to talk -- to get a sense of this man. That zing he felt when their eyes met hadn't faded.

"It's nice to see you," Daniel said. "I honestly didn't expect that you'd want to talk to me again. So I'm glad that you did."

Was his professional courtesy taking over? The part of him that automatically "made nice" with the tricks, whoever they were? Jesus, this guy had him off his game. He was entirely aware of the sexual attraction, but what was he really feeling here? He'd categorized Jack as "not into paying; end of story." It was quite rare that someone who had backed away like that made a second approach.

Jack smiled, just a hint at the corners of his mouth, and pushed Daniel once again into a swing dance. The music was some obscure rhythm and blues tonight, medium tempo. An old-sounding group Daniel didn't recognize.

He found the step Jack wanted (West Coast Swing; meant as an obscure test of Daniel's dancing ability?) and realized he was frowning slightly in concentration. He wiped the frown away, not wanting to give Jack any impression that he was unhappy with the way things were going so far. Daniel had sex for money; the dance of getting acquainted, a certain amount of flirting, were all part of his business. He didn't often get engaged, but Jack. Jack had him engaged. Daniel had been serious, that first night. He would have agreed to take Jack as a customer without a second thought. But he'd sensed that he also could have enjoyed Jack as a friend, or as someone to take to bed for fun.

So. That was what he felt. Surprised, relieved, interested. About to be turned on. So. Here they were. Daniel vowed to shake off the confusion that the rare collapse of his professional versus friendly boundaries had caused, and to keep his focus on the dance. On the man in his arms -- well, intermittently in his arms, as the complicated step allowed.

"I told you the truth," Jack said, still not meeting his eyes, but keeping them swing-dancing with admirable focus. "I didn't come in to this bar expecting to hire a hooker. But." And there was his dark brown gaze, full of banked emotion, and passion -- and something Daniel couldn't begin to map the borders of. He took a deep breath and didn't let his gaze waver. Jack continued, "I kept thinking about you this week. Over and over. So, I changed my mind. I'd like to -- hire you -- for tonight. Starting now."

Despite the hitch in his voice, Jack's gaze never faltered.

The knowledge that Daniel was not only going to get to indulge his attraction for this man, but get paid for it to boot, was definitely.... incendiary.

"All right," Daniel said, and the sultriness of his tone was in no way feigned. "Do we need to talk about what I charge?"

"I'm good for it."

"I'm expensive," Daniel warned.

"I figured," Jack said. "Do you want a credit card number? A bank vice-president to vouch for me?" Jack was smiling, despite the subject matter. Daniel chose to interpret that as a good thing.

"I'm sure you understand that it's cash only."

"Not a problem."

"All right, then." And Daniel named the figure and squeezed Jack's hand, and, as much as the swooping step would allow, eased a little closer. Jack still didn't really want to meet his eyes, but he didn't recoil at the price, and the glancing looks he gave intrigued Daniel with their dark brevity. "Are you in a hotel?" Daniel continued.

"Yes."

"Great. So. I'm officially yours for the night. Or some part thereof. The time frame is your call. I don't have any other bookings tonight; no conflicts. In light of all that, do you want to dance some more, or head right over to your place?"

Jack's eyes fell shut, and he responded by pulling Daniel close, maintaining the complicated step he'd been pursuing, but now with their bodies pressed together. He was warm. Very, very warm. It took all Daniel's concentration to keep the step while feeling Jack's lean frame against his, including Jack's very obvious and very interested hardon.

But he managed. He was, after all, very good at what he did.

Four bars of intense concentration later, Jack had danced them back to the edge of the maple floor. Just behind Jack, as the pause in their movements made Daniel open his eyes, he could see the sofa where Jack had been sitting earlier, with Jack's already-familiar leather coat draped over the arm.

Jack released him and backed up, onto the carpet.

"Let's go," Jack said, and hooked two fingers into the collar of the coat. He headed for the door, not looking back. Daniel grinned, and followed.

Jack went out ahead of him as he paused to hug and kiss Nathan at the door.

"My phone will be on all night, yeah?" Nathan breathed, and Daniel hugged him closer and nodded. Nathan looking out for him was something Daniel never took for granted. Along the sidewalk, Jack was standing next to the open passenger door of a very large pickup truck. Daniel noted automatically the out-of-state plates. Jack had one hand in his jeans pocket, and he was looking at the ground. Daniel slowed to a stop.

Jack said, "I don't mind bringing you back here, or taking you to your car, or whatever, later. If that's all right."

"Sure," Daniel said, and climbed in. Jack shut the door gently on him. The touch of chivalry made Daniel shiver.

He never did this. He never left himself without transportation; never left himself at the mercy of the client. They'd agreed that Jack would pay. So what was Daniel doing, departing from his normal routine for customers? Was this business or pleasure?

_Business,_ Daniel reminded himself sharply. He extended a hand across the back of the seat to make contact with Jack's shoulder, and began a trivial and ordinary commentary about the lousy prospects the Dodgers had this season.

And, yes, he could still call them. Jack responded to the neutral conversational gambit immediately, and he was apparently traditional enough to still resent the Dodgers' move out west, and he had more than enough verbal ammunition about baseball to carry the conversation to his hotel. Which made Daniel feel relieved once again. The idea was to set the customer at ease, and sometimes it was a real puzzle to decipher enough clues on short acquaintance to find a common ground for conversation. If Daniel was ever reduced to talking about the weather, he felt he'd failed. In this case, Daniel's instinctive guess about baseball had been right, as his guesses so often were. He personally really didn't care all that much about the game -- if he was much of fan of any sport, it was hockey. But the topic of baseball had worked. Good to know. Plus, it boded well for the other instinctive guesses he might want or need to make, before the night was over.

There was an elevator in the parking garage of Jack's hotel that worked for guests' keycards, so they avoided the lobby. This was familiar. Some clients didn't like to expose Daniel to even the neutral, unshockable gaze of bellmen and desk clerks.

Jack continued to remark about the major league's young season, naming himself a diehard Twins fan, until they were in his ... suite, not room. This time Jack didn't pause to usher Daniel in the door first, as he'd done in the elevator. He opened the door with his card, continued on to the big window and pulled the drapes open, then turned and took his jacket off and hung it on a desk chair.

"Help yourself to anything in the 'fridge, if you like," he said, making busy work out of arranging his jacket. As it was always policy to set the customer at ease by following his lead, Daniel took off his sport jacket and laid it over the sofa back, and loosened his tie. Then he did as Jack suggested, making himself a gin and tonic with what he found in the fridge.

"There's beer here," he said, remembering what Jack had drunk in Renegade's. "Or there's also whiskey?" Another instinctive guess.

"Yeah, I'd take a shot," Jack said, and he turned his back to Daniel to gaze out at the spectacular, 20th-floor view of the hills of LA. Daniel smiled. Right again.

"It's not quite up to the standards of New York, or Rio," Daniel said quietly, handing Jack his glass of Jameson's on the rocks, "but it's beautiful. Especially tonight, since the wind has pushed away some of the smog."

"This is definitely the nicer view at night. For daytime, I like an ocean view better, myself."

"Well, here's to the night, then," Daniel said, offering a toast, and as their glasses clinked, their eyes met for first time since Jack had ended their dance at the bar.

What he saw in Jack's eyes let Daniel understand that all his speculations about this man the night of their first meeting had been correct. Unless all his instincts were completely off, unless his intuition had completely failed, he was looking at someone facing his first same-sex encounter after a lifetime of who knows how much yearning and shame.

At that thought, Daniel had to give his own ego a serious deflating poke. Yeah, a first-time encounter made him want to puff out his chest and demonstrate just how good he was. But that wasn't what was called for. Under these circumstances, he wasn't here to give a performance. He was here to make it good for the man standing in front of him. So he smiled at Jack, working to allow it to be sincere and unguarded, despite the formality, the artificiality, of their exchange, and Daniel put them shoulder-to-shoulder once more as he took a long pull of his gin. The lights of his city really were beautiful. When he felt Jack exhale and take another sip of whiskey, he let his left hand slide around Jack's waist, and he counted it as a win when Jack didn't stiffen.

Somehow, he knew that talking about what should happen in the next few minutes, or any sort of verbal planning at this crucial stage, would be a mistake. Based on how the guy danced, Jack was actually very comfortable in his own skin and with his own body. All Daniel had to do was show him the way, and he'd be fine. But the first intimate, physical hurdle to the night's activities would probably be a ... Daniel laughed at himself for the cliche, but let the word form in his mind anyway ... probably be a bitch.

The desk of the living room of the suite was just to his right. He set his drink down and turned to Jack, setting his hand on Jack's shoulder, leaving his other hand on Jack's waist. The up-and-down of his hands was a gentle echo of how Jack had first touched him, when they had danced a week ago.

Telegraphing his movements, going slow, Daniel tilted his head, closed his eyes, and leaned in. He wanted to see Jack's expression, but it would be better to close his eyes instead, he felt. He would start their night in a very romantic, old-fashioned way: with kissing. If, as he suspected, Jack was old enough to have bunch of hard-wired girl/boy expectations, despite his own deep-down orientation, Daniel had no problem with following those traditions just long enough to get inside Jack's comfort zone. Because once there... well. Going by the dancing might be going out on a limb, might be extrapolating from too little data, but Daniel had a feeling that all Jack needed was confidence and a sense of familiarity. Once Jack had that..... well, Daniel had been willing to do this for nothing, hadn't he? Once Jack found that comfort level, Daniel fully expected "wow."

He felt Jack's gentle intake of breath, and their lips connected. Daniel pressed gently, moving his mouth a little, hesitating so he could see how Jack would take this -- if he would be tentative, or take control. A pleasant sort of suspense.

Jack's lips were very soft, and little cool from the cold whiskey, yet warm with the life underneath. The clash of Tanqueray with Jameson's wasn't all that pleasant, but Daniel had risked worse for duty and for business. He suppressed a smile in favor of gently exploring Jack's mouth. He felt a hand at his waist, and a forearm pressed around his back -- Jack must still be holding the glass. Jack's participation in the kiss went from receptive to curious to interested, all in a few quick moments. And when Jack's hand at his waist clutched a little, and Jack's mouth opened a little and Daniel felt his tongue, his own moan was answered by Jack's. Jack was definitely into it. Jack was also -- Daniel could feel it in the kiss -- astonished. _So. Don't overwhelm the guy. Give him a minute to process, to catch up._ Daniel, for his part, found himself a bit reluctant to slow down. But he knew that was the right call. Daniel leaned back and smiled. Jack met his eyes, and yes, he was astonished, but also a little wary.

"You're still holding your drink," Daniel said gently, and Jack smiled and brought his hand around. Daniel took the lowball glass from him and sipped. He suppressed a wince. Whiskey was so not his thing. But it was Jack's, and it would make their tastes match, and he was sure that Jack would appreciate a bit of it in the next kiss. Without letting go of Jack, he set the glass beside his own on the desk, and pulled Jack in closer for a new kiss.

Oh, yes. This one had a bunch of body English on it immediately. Jack's arms were around him, and Jack was making frank noises of pleasure, with just a hint of astonishment now, and Daniel found it easy to do the same. Nothing mechanical or automatic here, for Daniel. No performance necessary. Again Daniel was struck by a feeling of serendipity -- he would have done this for nothing, just for the friendly fun of it. Yet, he was working, doing these things for, as it were, both love and money. Somehow that knowledge made his enjoyment spike higher. And if he could give Jack the gift of experiencing for the first time how to enjoy himself with another man -- icing on a very delicious cake.

When the kissing had developed a substantial measure of full-body pressure, and Daniel was extremely and pleasantly aware of his partner's erection, he felt they were over the first hurdle. He kissed his way to Jack's ear and whispered, "Anything you want to do, we can do. Anything you've wondered about, wished for, just name it. Just show me. I'm all yours tonight."

"Wow," Jack muttered, and rested his forehead against Daniel's. "I don't know whether to speed up or slow down."

Daniel smiled, and backed up, pulling Jack toward him as he moved toward the sofa. Despite the gorgeous nighttime view of the city, the oversized sofa, with its flanking easy chairs, was oriented not to the window wall but to the flat-screen television -- which Daniel was sure would stay dark for the duration of the evening. He sat on the sofa, and reached down to unlace his shoes and set them aside, then held out a hand for Jack, who was standing there, just watching him, hands on hips.

Daniel said, "How about neither? How about just... continuing?"

Jack shook his head once, as if in disbelief, and leaned on the sofa's arm for balance while he removed his boots. He pulled off his socks, too, so Daniel did the same. When Daniel straightened, Jack was ready for him, sitting and pulling him close and kissing him with undiminished enthusiasm.

His mouth was warm and unhesitating. Daniel could tell his astonishment had passed and he was moving straight into enjoyment. Unselfconscious enjoyment, Daniel hoped. Jack didn't seem to be the type to overthink, but you could never be sure with the quiet ones.

After a while, a while that made Daniel pleasantly warm and very aware of how easy it was to, with Jack, set aside all vestige of professional detachment in favor of an elemental enjoyment of the kissing, Jack leaned back. He contemplated his own fingers running through Daniel's long hair. His expression was untroubled. He didn't seem to be working up to saying anything or to asking any questions. He simply seemed to like the feel of Daniel's hair between his fingers. So after a few moments, Daniel closed his eyes and let his head fall to the side, while his own fingers slowly searched out Jack's shirt buttons, undoing them one by one. Jack didn't make any move to stop him.

"It's funny," Jack said, his voice a low, hesitant rumble, less assertive than his touch against Daniel's scalp, "not to have to talk at all about where this is going tonight."

"Because we pretty much know exactly where it's going," Daniel agreed, working his way down the buttons.

"Well, there's always ... details, right?"

Daniel opened his eyes. "Sure. But the details aren't difficult. Everything's on the table, so we can just work things out along the way."

Jack nodded, and then he untangled his long fingers from Daniel's hair. He pulled Daniel's tie loose and unbuttoned Daniel's shirt quickly and efficiently. Then, surprising Daniel, without a pause, he went further, stripping him out of shirt and undershirt. Only then did he hesitate, with the layers of fabric in his hands, before spreading it all over the back of the sofa. He hesitated again, as if momentarily unsure of his permission to touch, so Daniel pulled Jack's hand against his bare neck and smiled, cupping Jack's cheek with his other hand.

Daniel went on, "We can work the details out by talking, or by doing."

Jack nodded, his gaze lingering on Daniel's neck, on his chest. Then he closed his eyes and leaned in, kissing while his warm fingers explored Daniel's shoulders, caressing, smoothing.

Very soon, Jack had leaned him back against the cushions, and Jack had followed his fingers with his mouth, kissing and exploring his neck and shoulders and pecs, while Daniel tugged the tails of Jack's shirt free from his jeans and pushed up, beneath the undershirt, to stroke Jack's muscled back. Jack's touches were definitely exciting him, definitely striking sparks. There was no feeling of urgency, only of delighted exploration. It was relaxing and arousing, all at the same time. Daniel resisted the urge to ask Jack if he liked what he saw. It felt so friendly and so warm, it didn't really have to ask. Yeah, it would be a challenge to continue to think of this as business, all right. Daniel closed his eyes and let himself drift, enjoying his role as the recipient of all that warmth and strength. He licked his lips. He hoped Jack would decide to kiss him again soon.

Just when Jack had settled comfortably between Daniel's legs on the wide sofa, just when Daniel had given in to his spine's quiet urging and had pushed his erection up against Jack's torso twice, three times, Jack propped himself on his elbows and leaned up and looked at him, eyes narrowed. Daniel cupped his jaw again.

"Whatever you want," Daniel repeated gently, stroking with his thumb.

"Right," Jack said, more of a growl than a word, and he pulled back and stood up, stripping off his shirts and tossing them to the floor. "What I want... is to see you. Take off the rest of your clothes."

Daniel raised his eyebrows a little at the abrupt change in mood, at the jump in the progression of their mutual seduction. _Military,_ he thought. It wasn't quite an order, but....

He did as he was told, standing up and stripping out of slacks and boxers, smoothing back his hair as he straightened. He stood there, at ease under Jack's smoldering gaze, and held his hands out a little -- reassurance or offering, the pose could mean either. He was hard, after the extended making-out, and he'd stay that way a while even without the touch of a hand, his own or anyone else's; a lucky feature of his physiology that had been useful many, many times.

Jack's dark eyes swept up, and then down, his body. Daniel swallowed. It was like a continuation of the caresses, exposing himself to a gaze that forceful. Standing there, not moving, letting Jack look his fill, Daniel could feel his dick getting harder. As if echoing Daniel's reflex, Jack swallowed too. Then, Daniel could see him visibly steel himself. He unbuckled his belt, ripped open the buttons of his jeans with a quick tug, and pushed his boxers and his jeans down just far enough to let his erection jut out of the fly. Undoubtedly a very familiar series of gestures. Just not something, Daniel figured, Jack was in the habit of doing for this purpose, with a naked man he'd hired standing in front of him. The odd juxtaposition of thoughts made a smile tug at one corner of Daniel's mouth.

Jack swallowed again, and, as if words had deserted him, he made a quick gesture down and toward his crotch. It was an unmistakable order. Daniel closed the distance between them with one long stride, and fluidly sank to his knees, his back as straight as Jack's. Well, maybe he was showing off a little, now, even though he'd resolved not to.

He grasped Jack's hipbones, mostly getting a double handful of waistband. Jack had barely pushed his jeans down, and with his feet wide apart, they wouldn't fall any further on their own. Daniel would have liked more room to touch skin, but he clearly wasn't being asked to run the show at this point. He'd been asked to take what was offered, no more.

He moved in close and inhaled deeply, enjoying the hit of pure Jack he got, the private scent of the man, and he caressed Jack's erection with his cheek and with his hands in a thoughtful, getting-to-know-you sort of way. Prominent veins, not much of a flare at the head, warm satiny skin, no hint of moisture yet at the tip. Circumcised, not too big, but plenty big enough. Daniel bit his lower lip, thinking about how what he was looking at might feel inside him, if that's what the customer wanted, later. It would feel ... very good indeed. Jack's cautious hand cupped the side of his head.

Daniel glanced up and met Jack's eyes, and smiled as he leaned back, feeling for his pants on the floor behind him.

"Don't make me come this way," Jack warned him, and he had to swallow before he could speak.

"I promise. And this should help with that." By touch, Daniel found the foil packet in his pocket, leaning up again and smoothly balancing on his knees. As soon as he had the tip of Jack's erection covered, he put his mouth there, rolling the rubber the rest of the way down as he began to suck.

"God," Jack gasped, and it was all Daniel could do not to smile. That would have ruined the seal of his lips. Yeah, maybe he could be forgiven for showing off here....

When Jack's cock was all the way down, resting against the back of into his throat, Daniel firmed his mouth and held there, breathing lightly, waiting for the next reaction.

He hadn't gotten a very good look at Jack's body once the shirts were off; things were moving too fast. But he'd registered that Jack had a little chest hair, brown and curling, and it extended in an ever-narrowing line down his flat belly to blend in to his pubic hair. Which Daniel definitely had not gotten a good look at yet, nor his balls. _All in good time,_ he told himself, tightening his grip on Jack's hips, shaping his mouth to Jack's length, and just barely sucking.

"God," Jack repeated, and there were both Jack's hands in his hair again, stroking, tugging, combing. Jack rocked back on his heels, and thrust, tilting his pelvis, his balance impeccable, and groaned. He tightened his grip in Daniel's hair.

That was a reaction Daniel could work with. Daniel sucked him, using just his mouth, and his throat, never moving his hands from Jack's hips, and they danced here too -- Jack sometimes offering to thrust, Daniel letting him lead, but never letting their synchronized movements become so intense that they risked the shock of it all pushing Jack too close to the edge. They danced very well here too, changing the lead as they never had done on the dance floor at Renegade's.

Just once, Daniel stole a glance at Jack's face. Jack's eyes were open, and he didn't meet Daniel's gaze, but instead kept his eyes locked to where his hard, slick penis was disappearing, over and over, into Daniel's mouth.

Jack's control was so good that Daniel's knees began complaining just before Daniel felt a tell-tale firming, a extra hint of hardening, of the flesh in his mouth, subtly warning him to follow Jack's verbal order before it was too late. Jack's hands tightened, perhaps involuntarily, in Daniel's hair, and Daniel heard him inhale, but before he could speak Daniel pulled off, slowly, while moving one hand to make a firm deliberate ring of finger and thumb around the base of Jack's dick.

"Mmm," Daniel murmured, and rested his forehead against the crumpled front of Jack's jeans. His skin came into contact with a strip of Jack's, and Jack was so warm there. He tilted his head, bringing Jack's erection against his cheek and ear. And waited. Fleeting and forbidden, came the errant thought that Jack smelled so good, he must taste good too. Daniel closed his eyes. Wow; where did that come from? Something else he never did with a client. Not in Los Angeles at the tail end of the 20th Century.

"Yeah," Jack breathed. "That's ... good."

Several flippant responses skated across Daniel's brain. He'd enjoyed going down; of course, he always did enjoy it, being a person whose sexuality had a distinct oral component, but his acknowledged attraction to Jack made the fellatio significantly better than usual. He knew that his multitasking mind was evaluating the significance of the fact that Jack had wanted -- demanded -- this particular act first, in this particular position, but he deliberately pushed those evaluations below the level of conscious thought, along with his shocking thought of doing this without protection. He directed his thoughts elsewhere, tuning in to his body, grounding himself. His knees ached a little. The dim room was pleasantly cool. He focused on Jack's scent, now hours removed from a morning shower. Jack indeed smelled really good to him. Daniel was approaching half hard now, his focus on his mouth taking him away from his arousal elsewhere, but as he noticed Jack's scent, his cock did too.

He didn't want to be flippant, reminding himself of what was probably going on here with Jack. He wanted to be encouraging. His first mental set of answers faded to faint traces, roads not taken, roads never travelled, and he said, quietly and entirely without attitude, "Thank you."

A lingering caress to Daniel's hair, and Jack's hands fell away.

"Up," Jack said, and when Daniel rose, commanding his overworked knees to bring him right up again, smoothly and seemingly effortlessly, Jack's mouth was curled in an ironic smile. Jack gripped his arms and kissed him, forcefully but skillfully, then leaned back to look in Daniel's eyes. Daniel raised his eyebrows a little, remaining as neutral and receptive as he could. A rather unprofessional thrill ran down his spine. What would Jack want next? You'd think that as many times as Daniel had been here with a client, he'd be jaded. Tonight, Jack made him anything but.

Jack stepped back. "You have lube, too?"

"Of course." A kaleidescope of visuals suddenly presented themselves to Daniel's inner eye, forming and reforming. The two of them, fucking. In bed, on the floor, on this sofa. Who would top? Who would bottom? He tried to focus. Yeah, this guy was getting to him. Making him ... want things. For himself.

"All right. So this would be why I didn't want to blow in your mouth." Jack licked his lips, and seemed to collect himself. Daniel glanced at his cock. It was still hard, not drooping at all despite the lack of current attention. Jack took hold of his belt and stepped around to stand behind the sofa. _Oho,_ Daniel thought. A brief gesture toward the cushions, and Jack said calmly, "If this isn't part of 'everything's on the table,' just say so."

"I meant 'everything'," Daniel said cheerfully, and he allowed himself a knowing smile. The sachets of lube were in his jacket. It was the work of a couple of minutes to slick Jack up, and then turn, to present himself spread against the back of the sofa. He didn't linger over the preparations. He had a feeling Jack didn't want him to.

"Go for it," Daniel said softly, when Jack didn't immediately move to him. He heard a rustle and a clink that meant Jack was stepping out of his jeans.

Jack's exhale was almost a moan, and his hands came to rest on Daniel's hips. They were warm and a bit damp. Daniel was as certain as he could be that Jack had never done this before with a man; maybe never attempted anal penetration at all.

"Just like that," Jack said. It was a statement, not a question, and it sounded a little rueful.

"Just like that," Daniel repeated, and he cocked his hips and bent his knees and spread his legs a little farther. Jack was hardly any taller than he was; this should be easy.

Jack made an indefinable noise, but he pressed close, warm and unhesitating. Daniel felt the slick, blunt nudging of his crown, heard his careful breaths. Jack was holding his own erection steady with one hand, and Daniel breathed deeply and relaxed and Jack pushed -- one of Daniel's hands fell to cup his straining quadricep, and wasn't that gorgeous -- and Jack was fully inside. His hands clamped down hard, one on Daniel's hip, one on his shoulder. Daniel leaned forward.

"God, Daniel," Jack said, sounding strained. His warm thighs came up against Daniel's. Bracing against the cushions, Daniel pushed. Jack was big, and gorgeous, and slick. And oh yeah: This felt good. It didn't always, but tonight, with this man, it was perfect.

"Christ," Jack said, again a reluctant syllable, and his hands were like iron, and then they found a rhythm again -- slow and deep.

Daniel closed his eyes, and soon, he realized that he'd been right -- that Jack didn't need careful handling now, and that they'd found their way to the dance once again. Somehow, beyond and above the riveting physical pleasure of this act, he was aware of Jack, of his surprise, his investment, his sensations. Daniel rarely felt this _partnered_ during sex. It made him happy; it made him go along, go further into the zone that he usually could, when it was work. He let go. He enjoyed.

After a while, "It's good," Daniel surfaced enough to say, somehow not wanting the entire enterprise to be conducted in silence, although he was fairly sure Jack could tell he was enjoying himself. And that it was: good and hard and simple. No tricks, no showing off. From anyone. Daniel didn't bother to keep track of time. He let his upper body relax, and bent his knees to give Jack's thrusts the best angle he could, and Jack held his hip and his shoulder and fucked him steadily.

"Oh," Jack said eventually, and then once more, "Oh," and he pressed in as far as he could and held, held, and Daniel smiled because he knew Jack was coming. _Another satisfied customer,_ a little voice laughed inside his head, but a deeper instinct led him to lift his hand and reach back and put it over Jack's where it gripped Daniel's hip, and that made Jack's hips hitch one more time. Daniel felt him bending, catching his breath, although his chest never touched Daniel's back. Jack spread his fingers, catching Daniel's between his own.

"God," Jack breathed, and then he sucked in one deep breath, and then one more, and then he blocked his fingers around the condom, and eased out and away. He let go of Daniel's hand last of all.

Daniel straightened to watch his retreating back. His hand strayed to his own erection. He was tingling all over, fully aroused, and he settled his balance and enjoyed the moment. Giving his cock a couple of languid, appreciative tugs, he let his arousal bank a little, feeling it curl into his balls and settle at the base of his spine. His nipples were peaked, his face flushed. No thoughts, now. Not really. Just the warm buzz of his own familiar flesh. A wonderful rush, to be filled so well and so carefully like that. With a considerate partner, bottoming always left him wanting more. And this time, it left him wanting more of Jack. That was an unfamiliar feeling, but strangely welcome. Daniel heard the toilet flush, and soon after, Jack appeared in the doorway to the bedroom of the suite.

"Come on," he said, with a corresponding tilt of his head.

Daniel let go of his dick and walked toward him, not hurrying. Jack watched him come for a moment, then turned and went into the bedroom.

It was big, and mostly decorated in white, a little light spilling in from the half-closed bathroom door. There was a second television on the wall, but no sofa. Jack was turning back the covers on the huge bed and lying down, on his side, leaving room for Daniel. Now, Daniel got the comprehensive look he'd been deprived of earlier. Jack was graced with long legs and slim hips. His body hair was dark. It was the physique of a runner. Of someone who spent time getting in shape, and even more time staying there. Daniel fleetingly wondered what Jack kind of work, exactly, Jack had done for the Air Force, but as soon as he lay down, his thoughts were drawn inexorably back to the moment. He turned to his back, and Jack immediately scooted closer to him, letting their legs touch. He covered Daniel's erection with his hand. Daniel made an appreciative noise and stretched a little, pushing more of himself against Jack in the process, enjoying all that warm skin, arching his back and then relaxing.

Jack smiled, and Daniel slid an arm around his shoulders. Jack cupped Daniel's balls for a moment, then gripped his shaft gently and gave a couple of slow pulls. It send a new wave of arousal coursing up Daniel's body, making him tilt his chin toward the ceiling and moan. He opened his legs, and Jack, taking the hint, gave his balls another lingering caress before returning his hand to Daniel's cock.

"I guess you liked that, then, over the sofa," Jack said, and immediately looked as if he wished he hadn't spoken.

"I do like to bottom," Daniel said, resting his hand lightly on Jack's, encouraging him to keep stroking, and keep talking. "I like a lot of things." And Daniel grinned and pulled gently on Jack's shoulders, and Jack came to him willingly, kissing while he kept stroking. The kissing was wetter, less restrained than it had been on the sofa, less polite, messier, as if Jack had been thoroughly reassured now, and perhaps was forgetting himself a little.

Jack's strokes were speeding up and getting firmer, and Daniel lifted his hips and moved, as the acceleration of sensation made the pleasure start to build in his groin.

Jack was watching him again, and mostly watching his hand on Daniel's dick, fascinated. He met Daniel's eyes once or twice, but gave his attention to what he was doing to Daniel with his hand. Then, without slowing his strokes, he leaned in and kissed Daniel again, lingering, using his tongue, slowly, creating a flood of pleasure that build upon and blended with the arousal elsewhere in Daniel's body.

Jack pulled back enough to whisper, "Would you come now? Like this? Is that on the table?"

"If you like," Daniel said against Jack's mouth, his voice low and thrumming with what he was feeling. What Jack was making him feel.

"If I like," Jack repeated, and he licked his lips and continued to watch as the steady work of his hand sped up even more, and when he added a gentle twist over the tip on each upstroke, it wasn't long before Daniel groaned and arched and came, spurting through Jack's fingers, clutching at his shoulder and reaching out for a handful of the bedding.

Feeling that wave crash never got old. Warmth ebbed, leaving satisfaction in its wake.

"Just. Like. That," Daniel said. "Yeah," and he grinned at Jack, who looked pretty serious for someone who'd just climaxed himself a few minutes ago. Pushing away the wave of languor that inevitably followed orgasm, Daniel curled up to sitting, and got up and went into the bath for a hand towel. Jack seemed to want things simple and direct. For a first exploration, that worked just fine for Daniel. Looking at himself in the mirror, he let himself wonder for a moment how long Jack could possibly be staying in LA, and how many different things he could show Jack if he hung around, but those were questions for later, if at all. He ran organizing fingers through his hair, quickly swiped his stomach with the towel, and turned back to the bed. Jack hadn't moved, but was leaning on his elbow, reflectively rolling the slickness Daniel had left in his hand between the pads of his fingers.

No question that gay sex was new to him, Daniel thought. He knelt on the bed and took Jack's hand, wiping his fingers dry, making the necessity a caress. When he was done, he brought Jack's hand to his mouth and kissed the palm.

Jack met his eyes, and his expression hadn't changed -- he looked so serious. No sign of the ebbing pleasure of sex, no sense of being thrilled to have Daniel at his service, the night not yet over. And no hint of the challenge Daniel had seen in the bar. In fact, there was barely anything left of the attraction he'd also seen while they danced. A faint crease appeared between Jack's eyebrows, and Daniel opened his mouth to speak, to reassure or to ask what they should do next, but the thought never had time to form. Because Jack put his hand in Daniel's hair and tugged, bringing their mouths together again. The kiss was anything but solemn or disappointed. It was deep and long and lingering and passionate and somehow full of yearning.

"Don't leave yet," Jack said when the kiss was over, but his lips were still touching Daniel's.

Daniel, he had to admit, was a bit breathless. His eyes were closed. He'd melted into Jack during that kiss. _Wow, indeed._

"Lie down," Jack was saying. "Take a break. Then later, we'll see what other details we can work out."

"Sure," Daniel said, and he closed his eyes and pushed his face against Jack's neck, and relaxed, letting himself drift. His intuition was sending up signals of quiet distress, but there was nothing to do about that just now, not in the face of such clear suggestions from the client. Daniel pushed his concerns to one side, and took the offered time-out. The room was dark enough, Jack smelled good, it was a great mattress, and a little nap after an orgasm was never something to reject when offered.

It seemed that Daniel had barely drifted off when he swam up again, surfacing abruptly out of a vague dream of a fiercely blowing _khamsin,_ vague looming shapes, misshapen monuments, hidden in a whipping, dim blur of sand. He opened his eyes, and there was Jack, leaning over him, watching him with a rather fond expression. Daniel was lying on his back, and there was more light in the room now, shifting and moving. Jack had turned on the big television, but there was no sound.

"How long did I sleep?" Daniel said. "Wow. That was rude of me."

"Less than an hour," Jack said, and he smiled and swept a hand from Daniel's shoulder to his stomach and back up again. He leaned down and put his face to Daniel's neck, and Daniel felt the wet press of his tongue. A shiver ran through him and he came fully awake. He raised an arm, wrapped it around Jack's shoulders, shaking off the dream and its lingering sense of danger.

It was disorienting. He shouldn't have slept hard like that, not on a job. A short nap was one thing, but to fall straight down into dreams? Once again he contemplated the line between business and pleasure, as blurred as the landscape he'd visited in his sleep.

Jack's touch called him back to reality.

"You're giving me goosebumps," Daniel murmured, and it was true. He shivered again as Jack's lips climbed to his earlobe and back down his neck, hitting all the ticklish spots.

"Sorry," Jack said, raising his head and looking anything but. He sat up and twisted to his left, returning with a bottle of water. Daniel remembered several of them being in the 'fridge out in the living room. It was open, half empty. He offered it to Daniel with raised eyebrows.

"Thanks," Daniel said, and drained it. Jack set it back on the nightstand while Daniel plumped his pillows and scrunched a little higher in the bed. He reached for Jack's hair, stroked down his back, and when Jack turned to him again, he was still smiling. He ran a firm hand down Daniel's torso again, cupping his soft penis, lingering there, and then back up, and then did it twice more. Daniel closed his eyes at the sheer simple pleasure of it. What a gift, to be touched with such care.

"This all right?" Jack said softly.

" 'S wonderful," Daniel said. Jack looked at his own hand, and at Daniel's skin, and within a few minutes, his calm, caressing attention had brought Daniel back to fully hard.

Daniel was thinking he really needed to exert himself and start focusing on how he could subtly take the momentum back, get back on top of doing what he could to meet the customer's needs, instead of focusing so deeply and self-indulgently on how good he himself was feeling, when Jack met his eyes, kissed him, and put his mouth to Daniel's ear.

"Open me up and fuck me, now," he said. It was a whisper, but just as much as an order as Jack's earlier directives for him to strip, for Daniel to suck him. And it send a new shiver down Daniel's back. "I've never done that before. But I want you to. Right now. Don't talk about it. Just do it."

Daniel, moved by what feeling he could not identify, took Jack's face in his hands, met those inscrutable eyes for a moment, and closed his own and kissed him. He let go, turned and got up, and went out to the living room for the supplies.

When he came back, the TV was off. Jack had moved to roughly the middle of the bed, and had propped his shoulders on a couple of pillows. He'd snagged the towel Daniel had left on the floor, and had it to hand near his hip. And he was lying there with a hand behind his head, watching Daniel as he came in the door, with his knees bent, and his legs open.

_Well, then._

Daniel went to the end of the bed and climbed on, then arranged himself between Jack's knees. Seeing this man spread out like this, for him, made his sleepily interested cock stand up and take notice. Jack was half hard now, and was watching Daniel like a hunter, unmoving and focused. Daniel smiled at him, conveying, he hoped, both delight and reassurance, and smoothed a caress over one knee. Jack didn't move, just continued to regard him steadily. Daniel tore the foil wrapper of a condom halfway open, and laid the packet to one side, within easy reach. He thoroughly covered two of his fingers with slick, and put his dry hand on Jack's knee.

_No talking,_ he reminded himself mentally, just as Jack said, "No talking." Daniel grinned. Locking his gaze to Jack's, he put two fingertips against Jack's hole, and described a tiny, careful circle.

Jack's eyes fell closed and he tilted his hips. Daniel did it again, and then let Jack's push toward him control his entry to Jack's body.

"Oh," Jack said, and Daniel smiled to himself. Yeah, most of the men who had never done this were chagrined and amazed at what they'd been missing. Some few tried it and rejected it, because it did exactly nothing for them, but for most men in Daniel's experience? All it took was a little training in overcoming some early taboos, some common-sense preparations, and bottoming became an incredible source of pleasure.

Jack was moving again, testing how it felt, pushing incrementally and circling a little, and Christ, but the guy was a natural. Daniel kept his hand still, giving Jack something firm to work against, giving him all the time he wanted to explore, and when Jack eventually pulled back, Daniel quickly and deftly added some slick and pushed back in with three fingers.

Jack moaned again, wordless and surprised, and he ground against Daniel's hand. Daniel let a formless noise of approval rise from his chest, and then he took over. Jack's pelvis was tilted, his knees falling open; he was the picture of submission, and Daniel stroked into him, slowly and carefully and firmly, meeting no resistance at all.

Abandoning his initial idea of maintaining Jack's erection by sucking him while he used his fingers inside, Daniel jumped ahead, because, Jesus, the guy was getting ahead of _him._ Jack's dick was firming, already leaving a gleaming smear of arousal on his stomach.

Jack ground down again, and his hands were clutching the sheets now. His eyes were closed, his focus entirely inward.

When Jack pulled back this time, Daniel pulled back too, slowly withdrawing his fingers but putting a reassuring hand on Jack's thigh instead. He pulled the condom out of its wrapper with his teeth and rolled it on himself, reaching for a new packet of slick without a wasted motion.

Jack was looking at him now, and Daniel, still mindful of Jack's directive not to speak, held his gaze, trying to convey how interested he was, how much he wanted this, as he applied lube to himself. He moved closer, shifted Jack's thighs, and Jack cooperated immediately, curling and lifting.

"God," Daniel said, involuntarily breaking the rule, because it was going to be so easy. Somehow Jack had deduced how to work with the angle, had figured out how to help Daniel line them up.

A momentary grip on his cock, to seat himself. Jack closed his eyes. A careful push through to the first point of resistance, and Daniel braced, poised, holding Jack's thighs and waiting.

And Jack tossed his head, back and forth, just once, and then his chin came up and he groaned, and he opened. Just like that, like he knew exactly what he was doing -- and Daniel slid all the way in on a tilt of his own hips, and it was hot and deep and shocking, just like it always was, like it had been every time since Daniel had tried this himself for the very first time, ten years and more ago.

Daniel realized his eyes were closed, and colors and sensations were tumbling behind his eyes as he held steady, letting Jack take it, take him in, feel it.

"Come on," Jack gritted out, a wild sound, and Daniel opened his eyes to see that Jack had pulled his hands up over his head and arched his back, making it easy for Daniel to pull him another inch or two onto his spread thighs, and making it easy for Daniel to begin to move.

"Ah, ah," Jack blurted, and some combination of that went on for a blurry, blissful while, while Daniel carefully fucked him. Jack's empty hands were curled on the pillows above his head.

Daniel was in the zone; excruciatingly, blissfully aware of Jack's sensations and his own, of how Jack was feeling every millimeter of what Daniel was doing. And what Daniel was doing was pushing in, slowly and carefully, all the way, and then just as smoothly, pulling out. Over. And over.

The tight slide of muscle around his dick was exquisite -- push, then pull, as inexorable as the beat of the blues they'd danced to. And he knew, with every beat of his pulse, as his hands kept their grip on Jack's thighs, that Jack was feeling that same slide too -- as opening, yielding, being taken.

Eventually Daniel was able to open his eyes, and when he did, he found Jack looking at him, his hands still curled above his head, his back arched, his entire psychic focus at the point where Daniel worked inside him.

"Come like that, if you..." Jack husked out. He swallowed, and Daniel finished for him, "...if that's on the table," and Jack's sideways grin convinced him that the words that had echoed in his head were exactly what Jack had been thinking.

Daniel closed his eyes and shifted his weight a miniscule bit forward. "Is harder okay?" he said, and Jack said, "Oh, yeah," and so Daniel took him at his word, and he slipped out of his careful initiatory mode and let himself go, just a little.

It got blurry then, Daniel losing the professional detachment he was so proud of, but the guy had asked him to come, after all.

So he did. Joyfully, but not carelessly, and when he opened his eyes, finding himself bent forward over Jack's sweaty, glistening torso, he found Jack reaching out to grip his arms, his head turned to one side, and his stomach spattered and streaked with his own come.

"Jesus," Daniel said, barely in control, and he let go of Jack's legs and braced himself on the mattress on protesting arms until he could catch his breath.

Jack kept his eyes closed, his head turned, as Daniel shifted onto his heels and pulled out, and so Daniel felt compelled to ask, "All right here?"

All he got for an answer was a deprecating hand wave, so Daniel slid backwards off the bed, found his balance, and went to the bath to clean himself up.

Bringing back a new towel for Jack was automatic, a courtesy he never stinted, but somehow the next few minutes became a blur, and he found himself falling into sleep once again, surrounded by a sense of safety and strength that was as irresistible as it was intoxicating. As consciousness faded, he was left with a vivid sense memory of Jack's fingers combing gently through his hair.

Daniel woke alone in the enormous bed. He was naked, covered with the sheet, not exactly perfectly cleaned up, which gave him a momentary stab of shame. But Jesus, after a session like that.... He could only hope that Jack had been as swept away as he had. The bedroom was dark, but morning light came strongly in from the enormous window in the living room, the drapes there left open all night.

Daniel lay still and listened. The bed smelled deliciously of Jack. But no one else was here. There was no sound of water running, or of movement in the outer room. He took a deep breath. Jack might have gone down to breakfast, or...

No need to speculate. Soon enough, he'd know. He stretched, and sat up and glanced around. His feet made no noise on the deep carpet as he walked naked into the living room. There were his clothes, over the back of the sofa. Of Jack's clothes, no sign.

On the sofa cushions, next to his neatly coiled tie, was a pile of green.

Daniel quickly counted it, raised his eyebrows, and did the math. The cash covered seven hours at twice the rate he'd named to Jack in Renegade's. It was all in hundreds, except for one extra fifty. It made quite an impressive stack.

Daniel put the money back on the sofa, for the moment, and went back into the bedroom. Nothing in the drawers, nothing in the closets, nothing on the sink in the bathroom. His client was packed and gone.

He leaned on the bathroom counter and closed his eyes. What was wrong with him, that he was standing here, bereft, wishing for a goodbye? It had been a wonderful, profitable, pleasurable night. Fun and exciting and lucrative. Much better than usual; one for the record book, in fact. He shook himself, and stepped into the huge shower.

The quiet and powerful hair dryer came with the room, permanently attached to the tile. Lucky for him.

Dressed again, with Jack's generous fee in his pocket, he carefully checked the floor of all the rooms one last time, wanting to leave a minimum to clean up from their intimate activities for the maid staff, but Jack had already found all the wrappers and the empty packets, and put them in the bathroom trashcan. Their dirty towels were in a tidy pile on the floor by the bathtub, where the staff expected to find them.

Well. All finished here.

As he walked down the hall, Daniel turned his phone on. It immediately lit up with a text alert, and when he read it, it stopped him in his tracks.

_sorry to bug out since i said i'd take you to your car. the grant is for a cab._

_take care. j_

The timestamp was for just after six that morning. And Daniel noticed how carefully Jack had worded his reference to the extra fifty dollars. Was he afraid of surveillance?

No response seemed called for. Jack had tied up all his loose ends and left. That was clear. Frowning, he pocketed his phone without erasing the message, and kept on walking, down the silent hallway to the elevator bank.

Another fact niggled at him: He hadn't given Jack his phone number. But of course, Jack could have found it easily enough; Daniel's phone was not passworded, and it had been right there in his jacket pocket, all night and all morning. Child's play for Jack to find the screen that displayed the number.

Jack.

Daniel had been his first-time. And he'd managed to get up, do all that tidying and packing, and leave, without ever waking Daniel. Had managed to steal away before the sun rose, leaving hardly a trace of himself.

After he tipped a bellman generously for calling him a cab, Daniel couldn't stop himself. He pulled up Jack's text message, read it again, and, moved by an impulse he couldn't fathom, he created a contact and saved the number.

His customers called _him._ He didn't have to lift a finger to drum up business. He didn't need Jack's number; if Jack were still in town, or if Jack were gone and someday came back to town, he knew where to find Daniel. Obviously. Furthermore, this number of Jack's might be a temporary phone. There was no reason in the world for Daniel to do anything except delete the message.

But he didn't.

~~~

Ten days went by. The spring term came to an end. Daniel acquired two more undergraduates who needed short-term, intensive tutoring in Arabic before their finals. Daniel aced his own finals and convinced two university departments that he could indeed continue to pursue both doctorates without his head exploding. He enrolled in some summer classes.

And, of course, he worked. Meeting customers took him downtown, and over to Malibu, and once as far inland as Pasadena. During the break, he caught up on the journals he neglected when he was studying and writing papers. He had a lot of clients, some regulars, and some new ones from his apparently burgeoning word-of-mouth. An unusual number of female tourists, strangely enough. And more often than he thought was wise, he thought about Jack.

Every so often, he'd take a look at his phone number, or reread that text.

It wasn't obsessing. He'd just been left a little hanging, that was all. And he was taken aback by the doubled fee. Now, that was a real mystery. But he had no intention of calling Jack; he wasn't even tempted. Clients didn't tempt him. Well, no; there had been that one actor who'd hired him once, but who could blame him for being tempted by that? There, Daniel was no different from millions of other network TV watchers. But in general, tempted by clients? No. He was not.

When Jack called again, Daniel was lounging on the balcony of his tiny apartment in Santa Monica, reading, on a warm, slow Wednesday afternoon.

"Hello," he said, his eyes still on the page, not bothering to check the screen of the phone to see if he knew the caller.

"It's Jack O'Neill. How've you been?"

Daniel sat up straight, his journal sliding off his lap.

"Jack of the dark brown eyes. Jack of the double payment. Jack the terrific dancer. That Jack," Daniel said, smiling. Did Jack realize he'd given his last name? Maybe it was his real phone number after all. Maybe he assumed Daniel had checked up on him.

"You forgot 'Twins fan.' Are you free tonight? I'm back in town."

"I didn't know you'd left."

"I'd just driven to LA when I met you. I spent some time in town, then took a road trip up the coast, and now I'm back. I'm house sitting for a friend."

"You've been busy. And as a matter of fact, I am free tonight."

"Good. I won't keep you too long. Here's the address."

Daniel took it down. It was on the coast, tucked away near Malibu. Daniel raised his eyebrows. "I'll need my GPS to find this place."

Jack chuckled.

Daniel said, "Two hours?" and then he winced. Jesus, he was eager to see this guy. His heart was beating faster. What the fuck?

Jack sounded surprised, "Sure. Two hours from now. Call if you get lost."

"I won't get lost."

Daniel gave himself a stern talking-to while he bathed with extra care, shaving again, clipping his nails, making all the personal preparations he could think of for what Jack might want this time. He took much longer than necessary to shuffle through all the shirts hanging in his closet, and finally rolled his eyes at himself and simply pulled on a tight white T-shirt with his jeans.

His car this year was a totally impractical but extremely romantic and rather antique red MGB. He put the top down, plugged the GPS into the cigarette lighter, typed in the address, and forced himself to think about nothing but the traffic and the swooping road and the gorgeous ocean views.

The little house was right on the water. It had a security gate, which Daniel found standing open. The edge of the driveway was covered in drifting sand from the adjacent beach. Daniel stood by his car for a moment, listening to the surf and working on calming his breathing.

What the hell was wrong with him? Clients never got under his skin this way.

He turned to the house, and there was Jack in the door, grinning at him, and before Daniel knew quite how it happened, they were embracing.

Tightly.

Jack smelled so good; fresh from the shower, obviously, like Daniel himself. He was wearing an understated Hawaiian-type shirt, and faded jeans. He was barefoot.

Daniel didn't want to let go. Maybe Jack didn't either. Jack cleared his throat just as Daniel said softly, surprising himself, "I missed you, too."

"Yeah. About that." Jack let go and turned away, scratching the back of his head. Daniel followed him. Jack went through the living area, which was open to the small kitchen, and Daniel had a brief impression of comfortable, spare furnishings, everything oriented toward the big ocean-facing windows. Then they were in the bedroom, which was just as brightly lit, with Roman shades pulled up to let in the view.

Jack turned to face him. The bed was freshly made, and turned down. Daniel took a deep breath.

Before he could say a word, Jack's hands were on him. Jack pulled his T-shirt up, kissing him simultaneously, breaking the string of kisses only long enough to get the shirt over Daniel's head. Jack's arms came around him, swept over his back, and then one hand buried itself in Daniel's hair while the other pushed down, past Daniel's waistband to find skin, and squeeze his ass. Jack's kisses were deep and blurry, forming and reforming without a break.

Daniel found his own arousal spiking at the way Jack was handling him, as if Jack could hardly resist him, as if Jack couldn't wait one more second to have this, to be with him.

Because as much as he didn't want to admit it, now that he was here, Daniel could feel it too. He really had missed Jack. He wanted this, wanted him. So much. More than he should.

Daniel gave as good as he got, kissing back, kissing hard, lips and tongue and teeth, pressing against Jack with his entire body, grinding his instantaneous erection into his hip.

Jack groaned, and then they were falling on to the bed. Jack, untidily on top of him, raised up enough to undo Daniel's jeans, and then he cursed in frustration and batted Daniel's hands away from his shirt buttons. He stripped the oversized shirt over his head, shoved down his own jeans while Daniel was getting rid of his own, and they were suddenly, blissfully naked, coming together on the white sheets in a clash of skin and urgency, bathed in the white light reflecting off the sea.

Jack had rolled on top of him, and his momentum carried him half across Daniel's body. He growled, still kissing, and pushed his hips between Daniel's legs, levering them open, and then their cocks were pressed together.

Daniel moaned into Jack's mouth, breathing him in, tasting it. He never did this; never let things get away from him like this. They were humping like teenagers. Daniel usually had so much more finesse than this.

"Shit," he said, holding tight to Jack, turning his head to the side, trying to catch his breath. "You really want it like this? Because I can do so much better for you."

"Right. Yes. Sorry," Jack said, and he pushed himself up so he could look at Daniel's face. He frowned, and inhaled sharply, and then he brought a hand up to trace Daniel's cheekbone. He narrowed his eyes, and ran a thumb over Daniel's lips, and then there was his mouth again, plunging deep, kissing furiously.

"Hey, hey," Daniel said, when they'd come up for air again. "It's okay. I'm here. I've got plenty of time today."

He felt Jack exhale, long and gusty, and Jack went very still, and put his face in Daniel's neck, almost as if he were hiding.

"Yeah," he said, his voice muffled. "Time."

Daniel frowned. He pushed up against Jack's erection -- a spangle of sensation, so good, so much desire there -- and he took Jack's head in his hands and lifted it.

Jack met his eyes reluctantly.

"What is it?" Daniel said, and when Jack shook his head, Daniel kissed him. He was about to say, "Whatever you want," about to reassure, but Jack grunted and leaned back, putting his fingers over Daniel's mouth.

"Aht. Don't say it," Jack said.

Daniel raised his eyebrows, obediently mute.

"I know what you were going to say. And don't. Just don't say it." Jack leaned down and kissed him again, as lingering and tender as their first kisses today had been deep and desperate. The abrupt change, the sweetness, the care, make Daniel suck in a breath. He responded, slowly, carefully. God, this man. What was happening to him? He realized he was holding Jack tightly, had even wrapped his heel around Jack's calf. Jack didn't seem to mind. He was smiling again; Daniel could feel it.

"You're right," Jack said, brushing his face, his cheekbones, his eyelashes, over Daniel's face, making Daniel shiver, making him smile in turn. "We have time."

He pushed his arms under Daniel's back, then, and rolled them again, bringing Daniel atop him. He smiled, and to Daniel his expression looked rueful and even a little sad. He brushed Daniel's hair back from his forehead, and searched his face as if memorizing it.

"Do something for me," Jack said. "Pretend you're in the driver's seat today. Pretend it's about you; that you can have what _you_ want. What you like."

Daniel grinned at him. There was a novel idea. In fact, he didn't recall ever having that particular proposition from a client before.

"Wow," Daniel said. It was actually a bit disorienting. He sat up, opening his knees to prop himself over Jack's torso, and ran a hand through his own hair. Jack's insistent erection nudged him in the ass. It felt great. It all felt great.

Daniel took a deep breath and tried to think. He smoothed his hands over Jack's shoulders and upper arms, admiring the lean muscle, the dark tan he'd acquired since Daniel had seen him last, the sparse and barely curling chest hair. Jack folded his hands more comfortably under his head, and a transient smile tugged at his lips. He seemed content to let Daniel look his fill.

Daniel put his finger on what was bothering him. This didn't feel like work. It was that bit of cognitive dissonance that was keeping him so off balance. He remembered clearly that when he'd first met Jack, he'd been attracted enough to contemplate flirting, as if there were no question of Jack becoming a paying customer. Jack was compelling to him, interesting, alluring. He'd tried to set that aside after the terms had changed, after Jack had become a customer, but it was hard. His initial feelings kept bleeding through. He cared. He wanted. And he wasn't supposed to.

Well. At least he thoroughly understood his problem. And from what Jack had just said, maybe he was making it a little too obvious.

Daniel said thoughtfully, still running his hands over Jack's skin, "About me, eh? What I like. What I want."

Jack lifted his chin in an encouraging gesture, and moved his hands to cup Daniel's hips. Daniel could feel how hard he was, but he wasn't acting impatient. He was waiting.

Daniel let himself think back to that first night, how he'd first set eyes on Jack, how he'd sized him up in Renegade's. The zing he got when they danced. How pleased he'd been when Jack came back to the club.

If he were doing this for himself. If Jack weren't a trick, but a fuck buddy. Or a friend....

Daniel smiled. He swept his hands slowly down Jack's arms, and took his hands, turning them over, looking at them, touching. He had such beautiful hands -- strong and long-fingered. Daniel had noticed them when Jack was playing with his beer coaster, he remembered. Daniel carefully set one of Jack's hands on his own thigh, and brought the other one to his mouth. He closed his eyes and explored it with his lips and teeth as he'd just explored it with his fingers, and when he bit down gently on the pad of the palm, near Jack's wrist, he made Jack gasp, and made his dick twitch against Daniel's buttocks. Daniel opened his eyes, and indulged himself by watching the expressions he created on Jack's face as he took Jack's fingers into his mouth, one at a time, and sucked and bit them gently in turn.

Jack's expression turned hungry, and he seemed relaxed and utterly unselfconscious. His breathing was speeding up.

"You like that as much as I like doing it," Daniel said, and Jack, his hand released, gripped Daniel's shoulder and brought him down for another barely controlled kiss.

"Still about me?" Daniel inquired, when they broke apart. "Still about me taking what I want?"

"No complaints here," Jack said.

"Don't get up," Daniel said, and he started to scoot away, to get the supplies he'd brought from his discarded jeans.

"You don't have to get up either. Stuff's in the headboard," Jack said, tightening his grip on Daniel's quads, and so Daniel smiled and leaned forward, and slid open the panel in the oak shelf, and there were a couple of different types of condoms, and big bottle of lube. The lube was open. The condoms weren't.

Daniel laughed, hefting the container. "You really did miss me."

"You got me," Jack said, and there was that wisp of sadness again, damping the happy lust that Daniel had seen just a few minutes ago. He vowed internally to make the sadness disappear. This gorgeous day; the two of them? Here, in this beach getaway? Nothing sad about it, if he had his way. Nothing at all.

And Jack had told him he could have his way today.

Daniel raised up and scooted backward, bringing Jack's package against his own as he knelt, spreading his knees again. He had a goal, now, but he allowed himself a moment to close his eyes and press their erections together, running light fingers over the hot, stretched skin, tilting his hips, making them both gasp. He felt Jack's fingers over his own, and their eyes locked as they touched, together.

Time fell away for Daniel, and he drowned in those deep brown eyes as if in the ocean just beyond the windows.

Finally Jack's eyes fell closed, breaking the spell.

Daniel swallowed hard, and it took a second for him to remember what he'd been doing.

_Jack. Jack O'Neill, summer traveler. Who are you? Where are you going?_

He found the strip of condoms he'd set aside, opened one, and gently rolled it over Jack. Jack raised his eyebrows, not really questioning, just seeming interested in where Daniel was going with this.

When Daniel opened the Wet and began coating the condom, Jack gripped the sheets at either side of his thighs.

"God," he said. "That's what you want?"

"Shh," Daniel said. He capped the bottle and tossed it aside. He raised himself on his bent knees, and moved over Jack, reaching back to hold his erection still. Then slowly, a millimeter at a time, he sank down, letting Jack enter him.

Bottoming for men, or giving them blowjobs, was mostly what his work called on him to do. More rarely, men wanted to suck him, indulging in something their ordinary lives made impossible.

Daniel actually enjoyed all those acts, but it was rare for him to, as Jack pointed out, do any of them with a focus on himself, his own selfish pleasure and not his client's.

So this treat was what he had chosen, just for himself, at Jack's invitation.

Fully seated, feeling his pulse beating hard in his groin, in his lips, he opened his eyes to find Jack watching his face intently, and gripping Daniel's thighs. Daniel put his hands over Jack's and smiled. Jack fit him so well. The angle was great, and he felt so full now. Consciously experienced, this sort of sex, bottoming, was always a little overwhelming. Daniel held Jack's intent gaze and shifted his weight, just feeling the man inside him. Jack moaned.

Daniel let a little more of his weight sink down, and he tilted his hips, gently, forward and then back, stirring Jack's cock deep inside him. The rush of pleasure made him close his eyes for a moment, and Jack groaned again. Daniel looked down. He was leaking already, his own cock red, the skin of the head pulled tight. He took hold of Jack's hand and curled it around the head, and Jack, with no urging, began moving it carefully, a gentle twist, matched, from his very first movement, to Daniel's pulse.

"Oh, yeah," Daniel said. And adding Jack's touch to his penis made it all irresistible. Inevitable. Hard to control.

He braced his hands and began to move. He felt, blurrily, Jack's other hand touching him, too, now, but the pleasure he was getting was overwhelming. He was losing track of the details, losing everything in the consuming, oceanic rush. He wanted to make it last. He would draw this out as far and as long as he could. Because it felt so goddamned good. Better than Daniel could remember feeling in a long time.

"Daniel," Jack gasped, and Daniel, lost in pleasure, opened his eyes, and Jack had a pleading expression, and then his handsome face twisted in a grimace that looked like pain, and Daniel felt him pulse.

"Jack," Daniel answered, and he leaned back and waited, gripping Jack's arms, balancing, his ass clenching in sympathy, so attuned had he become to what the two of them were doing for each other.

Jack's hands on his cock flinched, holding back from a squeeze that would have been painful, as the spasms of his orgasm inside Daniel tapered off. His chest was heaving. He looked so beautiful to Daniel.

Then his hands moved, a caress, and he squinted apologetically up at where Daniel waited.

"Sorry about that -- I wanted to hold it, let you take it however you wanted, but it was too good. I'm not... it was so good. Sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for," Daniel murmured. It was so distracting, the feeling of Jack inside him. So good. It was hard to speak.

He squeezed again, and made Jack moan a little and hitch his hips, even as he tried to talk. Jack's hands were moving again. Jack said, "This still good? Do you want to come like this?"

Daniel, still so high with pleasure, still in the zone, said, "I love your hands..." before he'd realized what was going to come out of his mouth, but when his eyes flew open in self-conscious astonishment, Jack didn't seem to have heard anything amiss. His hands were speeding up, now, stroking the shaft in coordination with firm, delicious caresses to Daniel's tightening balls, and so Daniel rested his hands on his thighs, leaned back a little, opened his knees a bit more for the best balance, and relaxed into it.

Even though he closed his eyes, he could feel Jack watching his face, and he wasn't trying to perform, wasn't trying to remember how the client would want him to look. He let himself get lost in what Jack was offering. He could still feel Jack inside; he hadn't softened much. It was wonderful.

When he came, he groaned and curled forward, and Jack cupped his cock gently until the shots had gentled and stopped. Jack didn't seem to mind the puddle on his stomach. Daniel leaned on his arm and let the wave carry him out. He closed his eyes. The sound of the surf was a benediction; the sunlight on his eyelids a warm presence.

"Hey," Jack said softly, after a while, and Daniel came to himself and realized he was still sitting there, leaning on his arm, with Jack softening inside him.

"Wow," Daniel said, and felt between them to hold the condom in place as he pulled off and lay down. More of a flop, honestly, but, dignity be damned. He was supposed to be indulging himself. He turned his head to look at Jack, found Jack looking at him. And oh, boy, had he indulged. He grinned at Jack, and Jack didn't grin back, but put a hand to Daniel's cheek again.

"Wow, indeed," he said. After a moment, he got up.

Daniel heard water running, and it blended in with the sound of the surf, and he must have dozed again -- Jesus, what was with that? How was he letting his guard down this much? Plus the unprofessionalism of it, sleeping when he should be working -- because the light was slanting sideways through the big windows when he woke, sending shadows through the room. And he could feel immediately that Jack was gone.

Daniel rolled to his stomach, blinking in confusion, and through the big windows, he caught sight of Jack's tall figure, silhouetted against the waves, still as a statue at the water's edge. Something crinkled under Daniel's elbow. Cash. So. Their time was up, then. At least this time, he'd be able to say goodbye.

A quick swipe with a towel, a quick handwash, and Daniel was back in his clothes, his loafers in his hand, his keys, his phone and all that cash in his pocket. A glance at the time had told him that, yes, once again, Jack had paid him exactly double.

He let himself out through the french doors in the bedroom. Jack had left them ajar.

The house was right on the beach; it wasn't a long walk at all to where Jack stood, barefoot, ankle deep in the surf, letting the waves break over his jeans, soaking them to the knee when a big one came along. He was shirtless, and his arms were folded. He didn't turn when Daniel approached, although Daniel was pretty sure Jack heard him coming. The breeze was cool; the sun warm. Gulls called in the distance. It was a perfect day. Daniel considered rolling his cuffs up, but instead he splashed out to stand beside Jack. His jeans could get wet, too.

He shook his head, trying to clear it. What they'd just done had been wonderful. Every time they'd been together, it had been wonderful. Why did this feel like a breakup? How could it possibly feel like that?

Jack glanced his way. "I think our two hours is up, unless it's actually more than that because you're clocking the drive time."

Daniel frowned. "I generally throw in the drive-time. And you've overpaid me for both dates; you know that."

"So that means you're off the clock now, huh?"

This talk of hours and rates vaguely irritated Daniel. It was all handled; it was fine. It was irrelevant at the moment. "I'm not worried about it. I just came out to say, thanks, and see you later, I guess, and to possibly apologize for falling asleep on you again. I don't know what got into me. I rarely do that with a client; it's pretty rude."

Jack listened in silence, his eyes on the horizon. He was squinting in the sun. His arms were still folded. His utter withdrawal made Daniel a little uneasy. Something was wrong with this picture.

Daniel tried a different tack. "You said you're housesitting here; will I be seeing you again before you head out of town?"

"Dance card filling up, is it? But you'll try to work me in if possible?" Jack sounded positively bitter.

Daniel stepped closer and moved a little in front of him. If this went on, he'd get angry. He'd done nothing to deserve that tone. "What is up with you? What's wrong?"

Jack met his eyes, then, and all of a sudden his grim facade cracked, and he looked positively anguished. Daniel instinctively reached out to touch him, but Jack turned away and started walking, angling up so that they were walking along the very edge of the sand, where the beach met the water and gentle ripples arrowed across the tiny shells as the waves went sliding out.

"I'm sorry," Jack said. "I'm being a dick and it's uncalled for.... Here's how it is. None of this is your fault, first of all." Jack shot him a sidelong glance. He didn't look upset any more, just determined. The freshening breeze stirred his short hair.

Jack went on, "You know I've never been with a man before. Everything you said to me in the bar, that first night, was a bullseye. Me retiring, coming out to the West Coast to experiment, the whole shebang. You profiled me to a T." He paused, but Daniel didn't want to interrupt. He felt that Jack was collecting his thoughts and was far from done.

"I'll tell you something else," Jack went on. "I never paid for sex, before you, either. I hate the whole thought of it, actually." Daniel raised his eyebrows, but before he could phrase a gentle protest at the hypocrisy of that, Jack stopped and faced him, his arms at his sides, drawing himself to his full height, as if he were coming to attention.

"And yet, here I am. Again. See, ever since that first night in that bar, I can't stop thinking about you. I want you. I want to sleep with you. I want to get to know you. I want to see you again. And you're a hooker. This" --and Jack's expressive hands described a sharp sweep between the two of them-- "is your business, not your thing. This is not a thing. It can't be a thing."

He dropped his hands, started walking again, splashing a little on the hard-packed sand. "So what the fuck is wrong with me? Am I that desperate?"

Daniel sighed. Conflicting desires clashed inside his head. Yeah, he'd been tempted to call Jack, himself, after their first night together, and he'd been very tempted to think about this, to daydream, to make it more than the business deal it was. And that was a line you didn't cross, a line Daniel had vowed quite explicitly, years ago, that he'd never cross. He'd never mixed business with pleasure. Ever. He'd learned from experience -- from Nathan's, from other people who had mentored him early in this work. The business relationship had to be clean and straightforward. Period. But Jack. Oh, what a temptation he was.

And Jack had felt it too. And it was messing with him. Daniel shook his head. Virgins. What had he been thinking.

Daniel said, and he was quietly proud of how calm his voice was, "I don't know what you're desperate for, exactly, but I do know there's only one way to find out." Jack kept walking, but his attention was on Daniel. He was listening almost eagerly, as if he thought Daniel might actually have a solution, an answer. That was rich. What Daniel had to offer seemed like thin gruel after the feast they'd just experienced in that bed. But it was all he knew to say. They couldn't keep crossing these wires. Bad things would happen if they did.

"Go back to Minnesota," Daniel continued, and at that, Jack visibly started. Daniel realized that Jack had never revealed, in words, where he was from; but Daniel had put it together. It had seemed so obvious; all the clues were there, down to Jack's accent.

"Go home," Daniel continued, doggedly, "and try it on with someone else. Some other man, I mean. Probably for you, it would be best to try it on with someone you're not paying. You need to leave LA. There's too much to untangle here, between us. Maybe what you're feeling is just pent-up demand for what you've always wanted -- knowing you needed to be with men, yet not allowing yourself. Or maybe it's not that. Maybe it's real. Maybe you do feel something that's just about me. About us."

Jack kept walking. His hand was at the back of his head. Daniel was learning that was one of his tells, for when he was worried or unsure of himself. "You're not saying it's real for you, too."

Daniel made himself keep walking, and he had to close his eyes against the flood of hope and longing that rose up inside him. Not allowed. Not now. Not today. He thought of the neat stacks of hundreds Jack had paid him -- way too many of them. "No. I'm not saying that. There are too many things obstructing the truth here for us to possibly have that conversation."

He stopped for a moment, got hold of his emotions, then allowed his buried annoyance to surface again. Jack had stopped walking too, and was watching him warily. Daniel said, firmly, "Newsflash. I have sex for money. With whoever shows up with the cash. Male or female or unspecified. Strangers or regulars. And I don't have a problem with that, but you do. Maybe a big problem." Daniel took a deep breath. He could allow them this much truth, perhaps. Why did everything he was saying right now feel wrong? Like a big mistake? Jesus, when did his life become a scene from _Pretty Woman_? He hated that movie. So much. "I like you too, Jack. I think you can tell."

"Then what are you saying? What do you want?"

Daniel shook his head, because this wasn't about 'want.' Not now. Maybe not ever. He made himself start walking again. He didn't look to see if Jack was beside him. "I'm saying you should go home. And then, after a while, you should come back. And then, we'll see."

Eventually, once he realized Jack wasn't walking with him any more, he turned away from the shore and trudged up the empty beach, cutting across the low dunes and heading back to the house, along the road. As he tossed his shoes in the car, checked that his fake ID was still in the glove box, and collapsed into the driver's seat, he looked to the west, and he could see Jack, dark against the setting sun, still standing by the water.

Well, at least this time, he got to say goodbye.

~~~

It was a busy summer term, between the tutoring and the new clients and the classes. Yet sometimes Daniel felt that time had slowed down, was somehow dragging.

Sometimes he felt drawn to take walks on the beach at sunset, hands in his pockets, cuffs rolled up, the foaming water around his ankles.

Once, after class, drawn by a niggling dissatisfaction he didn't quite understand, instead of heading over to Renegade's, he popped into a straight-boy sports bar right next to campus, and sat on a stool and drank a draft beer. The Dodgers game was on one big screen, the Stanley Cup on the other. He found his attention strangely divided. The beer tasted good, but despite being immediately welcomed into the conversations on both sides of him, he felt something was missing.

At Renegade's, or sometimes in traffic, he found his gaze lingering over tall brunets with crew cuts. Nathan, of course, noticed. And teased him about it.

And when he was working, he found himself smiling more when the client had brown eyes. He'd tune in to them, somehow. They drew his focus.

As he sat in class one night, waiting for the professor to hand out the packets for the exam, he realized what was wrong.

He was pining. Just a little.

Son of a bitch.

~~~

August, with its flood of tourists, ebbed like a new moon tide.

September came in, and one day Daniel was in line at the bursar's office at UCLA when his phone signaled a text. When he saw it was Jack's number, a quite inappropriate zing rushed up his spine.

_so, i went home. woo hoo._

"and?" Daniel typed, smiling in spite of himself.

_what i want from you, i can't have._

Daniel felt cold. He stared at the words in their ridiculous little dialog bubble for a long time. The line inched forward. Jesus, what could he say? He wondered if Jack had taken his advice about fucking someone else. Someone who wasn't a whore. He tamped down his feeling of anger. Water under the bridge. It had to be. So. What did he want to say in answer to that? What did Jack mean, anyway?

"how do you know that?" he typed cautiously.

The answer came right back: _srsly. are you stupid?_

Daniel smiled in spite of himself. God, he missed this guy. What a mess he'd gotten himself into.

"didn't we agree you should visit again?"

_that's what you said_

Daniel took hold of his courage with both hands and typed, "so visit. work out the details then."

He'd paid his tuition in cash and finished a quick lunch at the sushi place he liked around the corner from campus before Jack replied.

_okay_

~~~

Daniel woke alone, in his own bed, hoping against hope to hang on to the dream that was already fading with the remnants of the night.

He closed his eyes, trying to replay it, knowing it was futile. It was receding even now, dopplering away from him faster than he could chase it.

The sandstorm dream again, and that was familiar, but Jack was with him this time. They were crouched at the base of something -- a wall? a pyramid? They were covered in one blanket, meager shelter from the storm. Daniel was aware of other people nearby, refugees like themselves.

But what he was clinging to, was that wonderful, overwhelming feeling of Jack's scent, Jack's warmth, as Jack's arms surrounded him, held him close. And Jack's voice, reassuring, planning, even joking, as they rode out the storm. Together.

Daniel opened his eyes. He had the facts of the dream, the visual shreds of the memory. He could repeat it to someone else, tell the story. But the feeling was fading. Going, going, gone.

Wow.

He really missed Jack. A lot.

He was distracted all day. That night, after his regular client in Malibu, he found himself steering his convertible to that same stretch of beach. He left the car on the shoulder, around the curve from the lights of that little beach house, now presumably reoccupied by its actual owners, and stood in the surf and listened to the ocean calling. The cool breeze ruffled his hair.

He'd crossed a line. And that line was so far behind him, he couldn't even see it. And the bitch of it was, he couldn't even remember when it had happened. So that meant it had probably happened all at once, like falling down a well, the very first time Daniel Jackson had laid eyes on Jack O'Neill.

He hadn't meant to do it. Had lectured himself against it, in fact. But he'd fallen in love. With a client.

~~~

It wasn't at all the kind of reunion he'd been daydreaming about.

He had vowed to wait. Vowed to let Jack come back, if and when he was going to. Because -- the hooker thing. It was a dealbreaker, Daniel knew in his heart.

When the message came, it was a regular voice call. Not a text.

"So," Jack's voice said. "I'm in town. Same hotel. Room 602."

"See you tonight," Daniel said, and before he could suggest a time, Jack hung up.

~~~

Daniel raised his knuckles, hesitated, and listened. He could hear a television, faintly, but the hotel was good and the walls and door panels were thick. He was pretty sure this was a regular room. Not a suite. He took a deep breath and rapped sharply.

Two heartbeats. Four. And Jack pulled the door open fast, and he was frowning. His hair was shorter. He had a fresh shave. His tan had only faded a little from when Daniel had seen him last. He was wearing a white terry-cloth bathrobe and he smelled of fresh aftershave. He smelled divine. Daniel began to grin.

Jack, on the other hand, looked serious. Without a word, he drew Daniel in. Holding him firmly by the shoulder, he closed the door behind him, and, pinning, Daniel with his smoldering gaze, he produced a folded wad of bills. Before Daniel could even begin to identify the amount or the number, he had tucked them into Daniel's shirt pocket.

Questions, greetings, everything, died in Daniel's throat, as Jack pushed him back against the door and roughly undid his belt and his jeans. Jack went to his knees, yanking Daniel's pants and briefs down halfway.

Daniel's eyebrows went up. He pressed his palms against the wood of the door. Whatever he'd expected from Jack tonight, it wasn't this.

From the pocket of the robe, Jack produced a condom. Daniel had been half hard from anticipation alone, and Jack's scent and a few quick pulls of his hand -- _his hand! How that touch had haunted Daniel's dreams_ \-- got him hard enough to let Jack cover him.

And Jack pushed him back against the door, and with no further ado, went down on him.

It was intense, obliterating, almost angry in its focus. And Daniel, rational thought fleeing, leaned back and let it happen.

_God, Jack..._

As Jack touched him, cradling his balls or tugging gently at them, while taking him deep, fucking Daniel into his mouth, it registered on Daniel that they had never done this act, this way, until now.

He let his hips lift, let his own movements help push himself toward the orgasm that Jack was so clearly intent on ripping out of him, but what really got to him, what pushed him to the edge and over it in a blur of ragged sensation, was the sound and transferred vibration of Jack, practically choking himself on Daniel's dick, jerking himself off, groaning around Daniel's cock, as he knelt there.

Daniel gasped, and came, and Jack pulled his mouth off, squeezing and massaging him as he filled the condom, and then Jack swore and put his forehead against Daniel's stomach, shaking all over as he came, too.

Daniel became aware that the back of his head was sore where he'd knocked it against the door, and that he could hear the television. It seemed to be a news program of some kind.

"You paid in advance," Daniel murmured. His voice sounded strange, alien.

"Maybe I wanted your full attention," Jack growled, from somewhere down near his knees.

Daniel fumbled for the bills in his pocket. Jack was still holding him, cradling his privates, leaning against him. He could feel Jack's breath on his thigh.

"This is double the one-hour fee."

"Jesus, Daniel," Jack said. Daniel stuffed the money back in his pocket. He didn't know what was happening. He didn't know what Jack wanted now. He closed his eyes. How had it come to this? How had he lost control entirely of what was happening? He had no idea.

Jack sucked in a big breath, and started talking, sounding reluctant, but like he had to get out the words. "I can't get you out of my head. How come I dream about you? How come I wake up at night feeling your mouth? Your hands? I can't stop thinking about your eyes, your laugh, the way you dance."

Jack scrubbed his forehead against Daniel's leg, and then he leaned back, all the fury of earlier gone without a trace. He sounded resigned. Sad. His eyes were closed. He rested a hand on Daniel's thigh, crouching there on the carpet. Daniel put a hand in his hair, but he didn't react.

All of a sudden Jack surged to his feet. He unbelted the robe and threw it on the nearest bed. He was naked under it.

Daniel pushed away from the door, awkwardly holding himself, needing to deal with the rubber, needing to fasten his pants, needing to see Jack's face most of all.

Jack was between the two big beds, pushing his legs into a pair of jeans, a shirt on but hanging open, talking the whole time.

"I've gone and done the most ridiculous, boneheaded thing any man could possibly do. I seem to have fallen in love with a prostitute."

He looked incredibly upset. Irate, even. He met Daniel's eyes for a moment, then stood still to button up his shirt.

"Can you imagine anything more stupid than that?" He zipped up his jeans. He shoved his feet into an ancient pair of moccasins.

Daniel sank to sit on the corner of the nearest bed. He took a deep breath.

"Yes. I can."

"What?" Jack was stuffing the tails of his shirt into his jeans.

"Delaying, and suffering, and not telling the person. Because, you know, they may have feelings for you, too."

Jack had pushed past him and was on his way to the door. He froze, then rounded on Daniel.

"How is that possible? You know better than to do that with a customer. You can't do that. You _never_ do that."

Daniel opened his mouth, and froze. Jack was right. He couldn't. He didn't.

But he had.

Jack made a sweeping gesture, ending with one hand in his hair.

"You know what? Don't answer that." He looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time, as if it were a cell he needed to plan his escape from. He looked wild.

"Just. Don't say anything. I'm going ... out. Down. Stairs. I'm going to walk around the, the block, and calm myself the fuck down. And here's my proposition."

He went to the door, opened it. He turned to Daniel, quiet now, but he looked at a point somewhere below Daniel's eyes -- maybe his chest. Daniel felt stunned.

"You've got your fee. In advance, like you said. Fair and square. And when the hour's up, if, if you want to stay, it's like -- we're starting over. It's not a business arrangement any more. It's just us. Doing this, because I want to be here and you want to be here."

Daniel was frowning, his amazement growing with every sentence he heard. "And you'll know this how?"

"Because you won't leave. You'll be here when I get back." And he pinned Daniel with a long, piercing look, and then without another word, he was gone, the door closing behind him with a quiet thud.

The decision wasn't even hard. It had been made weeks ago.

Daniel sat there a while, until the echo of Jack's rant had faded from the walls. Then he got up and disposed of the condom. Then he found the remote and muted the news. Things were blowing up somewhere. It didn't look good. Then he folded his clothes carefully on a chair and took a long, hot shower. When he got out, he blew his hair dry, brushed his teeth, and pulled on his jeans, no underwear. He went to the little fridge hidden in the credenza and made himself a stiff gin and tonic. Then he gathered all the pillows he could find, climbed onto a bed, piled the pillows behind his back and as an armrest, and found something non-violent to watch.

He sipped his drink.

He waited.

The door opened quietly. There was silence.

Then, "Daniel?"

"Jack. Hey. Look, it's a Dodgers game. It's the Brewers, though; maybe the Cubs, would be better, but they're not in the playoffs. No surprise there."

"Um. That sounds good." Jack slowly and carefully walked between Daniel and the television. He pulled a beer from the little fridge and carefully positioned himself on the bed next to Daniel. He took a sip of beer. Daniel could feel his gaze. He reached for Jack's hand. It was cold. He laced their fingers together and kept his eyes on the TV.

By the seventh inning, it was clear the Dodgers were losing.

Daniel said, "You want to grab some dinner? I'm hungry."

They went. Daniel drove. It was his town, Jack said. He'd know all the good places.

They went to a little family-owned place within sight of the ocean.

After they had ordered, and unwrapped their chopsticks from the paper, Jack was still looking so extremely stunned and disbelieving, that Daniel took pity on him and said, "So, where are you from in Minnesota?"

They talked about that for a while. And about Chicago. And fishing. And hockey -- surprise! Hockey would have worked just as well as baseball, that first night. Better, actually. Because Daniel loved it too.

After the waitress had mixed their sugary, indulgent coffee desserts and left them again, Jack said, "What about you? Are you from California?"

"Oh. No. I've lived all over the world, really," Daniel said, toying with the lid of the coffee press.

Jack's hand crept toward his. Jack held his hand, right there on the table. Jack cleared his throat. "Not an Army brat."

"No, God, no. My parents were archaeologists. They were killed in an accident when I was eight years old, and I bounced around a lot after that. Relatives, foster care. I ended up here to go to college. Kind of a fluke, really."

Since Daniel was driving, and they had a lot to talk about -- college, and dating, and being a perennial student versus joining the Air Force, and assignment at Lowry, and being overseas, doing secret things, and fellow students, and tutoring, and linguistics, and Egypt, and Middle East politics -- they ended up back at Renegade's. It seemed somehow appropriate.

Nathan hugged Daniel. Grinning.

Curtis was tending bar. It was Allen's night off, Daniel remembered. Daniel said to him, "Curtis, you remember my boyfriend Jack."

Curtis said, with his habitual sneer, "Hookers can have boyfriends?"

"Yes," Daniel said. "They can." And Jack smiled.

Drinks in hand, they turned to scan the crowded room and see if they could snag a table or a sofa.

"By the way," Jack said. "I don't know your last name."

"Jackson," Daniel said, and it made them both smile. "Really.... Oh! One loose end," he finished, and gave Jack his gin and went back to the bar. He ducked under the barrier, ignoring Curtis' look of outrage, and pulled his stash of cash out from behind the ice machine. If Curtis saw him now, it didn't matter.

Jack was watching him with raised eyebrows. Daniel stuffed the money in his front pocket. It made kind of a bulge. He put his arm around Jack.

"Look -- there's a table," Daniel said, pointing. Three men were shrugging into their coats, getting ready to leave. They drifted closer, ready to move in before someone else did. The place was pleasantly crowded.

"I used to use a little alcove behind the ice machine as my bank. Not cool to be depositing bunches of ill-gotten cash, you know."

Jack frowned at him. "Used to?"

Daniel said, trying as hard as he could for matter-of-fact, as if his entire life hadn't been upended today, "I think I'm going to have to get out of the business."

Jack's shock was unfeigned. Already, Daniel could tell. "Really?"

"I think you've ruined it for me."

Jack thought about that, over a sip of his beer. "I, uh, I can't pretend I'm upset about this."

And he took Daniel's hand again, thinking it over, glancing at Daniel, apparently trying not to stare, tearing his glance away and making himself watch the dancing, then looking at Daniel again, and never letting go of his hand.

Daniel continued, "Since that stash is all the money I have in the world, except for the pittance I get tutoring people in linguistics and in Arabic, I'm going to have to get back on the grid, borrow some money from the government or from a bank, get a cheaper place, probably on campus, pick _one_ doctorate to actually finish very soon, and then I can teach, and then I can figure out somewhere to live and work that's a little closer to your regular haunts."

Jack tightened his grip on Daniel's hand. "That's quite a speech."

Daniel gestured with his glass. "It wasn't a speech. It was a plan."

"More of a scenario, don't you think?"

Daniel grinned. Jack continued, looking at their joined hands, "Or, maybe, I can develop a taste for California, and come out here" -- a sidelong dark glance -- "permanently. Maybe they need pilots here, or something else I know how to do. Parachuting instructors, maybe?"

Daniel couldn't resist. A sparkling feeling, like champagne, had been building inside him for hours now. It had to bubble over sometime. He arched an eyebrow. "Assassins?"

Jack shot him something that could only be described as a stinkeye.

"And, if I move out here and obtain gainful employment in addition to my retirement check, I might possibly also have a spare bedroom. Or a spare side of the bed. Because, you know, Doctor Jackson, those university perks are great. Cheap cafeteria food. Big gymnasiums, lots of weight equipment, running tracks."

Daniel was struck silent. Finally he said, "You'd do that?"

Jack shrugged. "I'd rather be here, if you're finishing school. That'll take a while, right? And long distance relationships are hard." A shadow passed over his face, the one Daniel had seen before, when they talked about Jack's time spent stationed at Lowry in Colorado, doing things that he couldn't talk about.

Daniel's turn to squeeze Jack's hand, and he said quietly, "Is that the voice of experience?"

Jack sighed. "There's a lot you still don't know about me. I imagine the reverse is also true."

Daniel nodded. "Well. You moving to LA. That would be great. For now. But think about this: Once I have my Ph.D., and am employable as a real professor, thank you for the advance use of the title, that's pretty thrilling, actually, I think I'd like to get out of this city. Start over, somewhere else, you know? Somewhere I've never lived." And then Daniel corrected himself, remembering how Nathan had always insisted that honesty is key, "Somewhere I've never worked as a hooker."

Jack's grin was infectious. "Somewhere we can get a live Twins game on television."

A perfect compromise occurred to Daniel. Not California, not Minnesota, but maybe ....

"Or maybe you'd have to settle for the White Sox." Jack's brightening smile warmed him more than he was perhaps prepared to admit.

Jack said, pretending shock, "Change my allegiance?"

Daniel said, "It's been known to happen."

"Yes," Jack agreed. "It has. And stranger things than that, even." And he leaned in, and kissed Daniel, and his mouth was warm and soft and promised.... everything.

 

end.


End file.
